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From the date affixed to many of these poems, 
it will be perceived that the contents of this 
little volume are the casual production of leisure 
hours, during the last twelve years. Some few 
of them have, at intervals, found their way into 
print; and the natural wish to reclaim these 
fugitives, and to establish the fact of their 
parentage, has partly dictated the present pub- 
lication. There was a period when, with all 
the ambition of Eighteen, I aspired to the fame 
of a poet ; and I once entertained the hope of 
producing a work, that might more worthily 
repay the public for the favour shown to an 
anonymous volume*, the joint production of a 

* u The Associate Minstrels." l2mo. London, 1810 and 1812. 

a 3 


knot of youthful associates, which contains my 
earliest effusions. But my pursuits have been 
determined in other directions ; and poetry has 
long ceased to be with me more than a record 
of feeling, and a source of quiet enjoyment. 

" The Star in the East" is, to the extent of 
about ninety lines, a republication of a poem, 
published in 1812, under the ill-chosen title, 
" Gloria in Excehis Deo" The British Critic 
was, with one exception, the only journal which 
did me the honour of noticing it, and the un- 
known Reviewer shewed both his judgement and 
his kindness in selecting one of the few passages 
which I have felt anxious to rescue. The poem 
is but little known, the greater part of the im- 
pression having been given away ; but I have 
thought it necessary to guard myself against the 
charge of plagiarism from any other writer than 

The Psalms in this volume are an attempt to 
give a metrical form to some of those sacred 


compositions, with as little deviation as possible 
from the letter, but more especially from the 
spirit of the text, as given by the best trans- 
lators. They are not all adapted to our singing 
metres, because my object has not been to fur- 
nish hymns for public worship, so much as to 
do what justice I could to the specific character 
of the particular psalm ; which, in the attempt to 
accommodate them indiscriminately to psalmody, 
has, I think, too generally been lost sight of. 
Some (as, for instance, the Second Psalm, and 
others of a prophetical nature) do not appear 
to me applicable, without violence, to such a 
purpose. The omission of Psalms xxxiv. and 
cxlv. in Mr. Montgomery's " Songs of Zion," 
first suggested the experiment. But our object 
has been so different, that I trust I shall not be 
thought to have ventured upon any unequal 

" The Reverie" was given in the second 
edition of " The Associate Minstrels ;" but, as 


that publication has been for some time out of 
print, and many imperfect copies of the poem 
have been circulated in manuscript, I hope I 
shall be excused for inserting it among the 
Sacred Poems in this volume. 

I am bound to confess that some few of these 
productions (including one which was inserted 
in an early volume of the Edinburgh Annual 
Register, with the signature E.) are not my own. 
But it was made the condition of their appear- 
ing, that they should meet the public eye under 
the protection of that name, for which their 
author has been content to resign her own. 

Nov. I, 1823. 


The Star in the East 

Notes to the Star in the East 



. 21 


Psalm ii. 


Psalm xxin. 


Psalm xxxiv. 


Psalm lxvii. 


Psalm l xxxiv. 


Psalm xcvi. 


Psalm cxxiv. 


Psalm cxlv. 


Psalm cxlviii. 


The Lord is King 


Oh, how shall feeble flesh and blood 


They whom the Father giveth 


For the Eucharist . . . . . 


Doxology ..... 


If all the world abhor us 


The Poor Man's Hymn . 


How shall I follow Him I serve 


Oh, when will smilin 






When, in the hour of lonely woe 68 

Lord ! whate'er in mortal eyes 70 

O thou God who nearest prayer . . . • .72 

A Thought on the Sea-shore 74 

The Comet 76 

Monody on the Death of H. K. White ■ • • * 79 

Reply to Stanzas by H. K. White 82 

To the Memory of a Young Lady 83 

The Reverie 86 


Proem .......... 96 

Thou Lady dear, for whom I wake the string • • • 97 

Home 101 

On leaving B********. 104 

With thee amid the wild recesses • • • • -107 

Absence 110 

On the Death of an Infant Son 113 

Sonnet — Here rest, my Love 115 

ToE. R. C. 116 

On the Birth of a Son -118 

To a Sister, on her Birthday . • • • .121 

To the Same, on Recovery from Illness • • • .124 

To a Sister, with a Bible 126 

To Louisa 128 

To Mrs. S. R.W 130 

To Mrs. Turner, Bermuda 133 


The Voice of the Oak ... ... 139 



Sonnet i. Two Voices are there .... 

Sonnet II. It is a false theology that says 

Sonnet III. A green and flowery slope 

Sonnet iv. There's beauty, motion, music in the stream 

Sonnet v. Unknown, yet well remember'd 

Sonnet vi. 'Tis from the Lord, the humbled monarch cried 

To an Eolian Harp, heard at Night 

Spring : in Four Sonnets 

Evening Sketch .... 

To the Nightingale 

Summer : in Four Sonnets 

Song, — How lightly, fleetly glide away 

Autumn : in Four Sonnets 

Song, — "Twas not when early flowers were 

Love, Hope, and Fancy 

Song, — Hope away ! 

Song, — Woman, dear woman ! 

Song, — O give me back . 

Song, — O spare me not 

Song, — Throw, Father Time, thy hour-glass by 

Song, — With hopes once fondly cherishM 

On the Birth of F. R. C. 

To the Memory of Edward Powell, Esq. . 



1 9 ] 


Page 46, line 5 from bottom^r Through all, read Throughout. 
65, line 5, for beam, read gleam. 




Song of the Angels at our Lord's Advent. — Massacre of the Inno- 
cents. — Destruction of Jerusalem. — Modern Jerusalem. — Pre- 
dicted Restoration of the Jews. — Apostrophe to England as the 
chief Evangelist of the Nations. — Spread of Christianity in 
India. — In Persia. — In China. — In Polynesia. — In Greenland. 
— North American Indians. — Sierra Leone. — Central Africa. 
— Apostrophe to the Star of Bethlehem. — The Scriptures. — 
Progress of Knowledge — Signs of the Times. 


O to have heard the unearthly symphonies, 
Which o'er the starlight peace of Syrian skies 
Came floating like a dream, that blessed night 
When angel songs were heard by sinful men, 
Hymning Messiah's advent ! O to have watch'd 
That night with those poor shepherds, whom, when 

The glory of the Lord shed sudden day, — 
Day without dawn, starting from midnight, day 
Brighter than morning, — on those lonely hills, 
Strange fear surprised — fear lost in wondering joy, 
When from the angelic multitude swell'd forth 
The many-voiced consonance of praise : — 

b 2 


Glory in the highest to God, and upon earth 
Peace: towards men good- will. But once before 
In such glad strains of joyous fellowship, 
The silent earth was greeted by the heavens, 
When at its first foundation they looVd down 
From their bright orbs, those heavenly ministries, 
Hailing the new-born world with bursts of joy. 

Not long the vision tarried : died away 
The wondrous music on the charmed ear 
Of those few peasants. Morn returning found 
No footstep on her solitary hills 
Of angel visitant, — all closed the scene 
Of that bless'd pageantry to mortal gaze. 
Far other sounds than voices jubilant, 
Bethlehem, thy streets sent forth, when the fierce 

Searching his infant rival, foully slew 
Thy innocent babes, and Rachel from her tomb 
Groan'd for her offspring. Not the less, e'en then, 


Angels unseen thy hallow'd precincts watch'd, 

And from the assassin's arm bore tenderly 

( Upward each ransom'd spirit — for of such 

The heavenly kingdom. These but died for Him 

Who died for all — most honour'd in their death, 

And bless'd. Thus angels joy when mortals weep. 

City of David ! Thou art desecrate ; 
And fall'n Jerusalem sits captive now 
In dust and darkness. Every holy one 
Has long forsaken the polluted land. 
Where stood the Cross, the avenger's ensign waved : 
The Roman came, and thy proud temple fell. 
The Pagan brought his idols : these displaced, 
The mumming priests usurp'd the christen'd fane, a 
Witli stores of relics, crosses, holy wares, 
And venal pardons; till the Saracen 
Came in his might, with zeal iconoclast, 
And swept away the unhallow'd trumpery. 
Now — for the honour of the Prince of Peace— 


Europe pours forth her motley Christian hordes, 
Frenzied with demon zeal, to plant anew 
The red-cross banner on the guilty soil 
Again the nameless horrors of the siege 
Were acted o'er. b The conqueror blush'd to take 
His golden crown, yet not refused the name, 
King of Jerusalem. Brief the boast profane. 
Again the crescent triumph'd. Palestine 
Shook back into the sea the leaguer' d hosts 
Of arm'd apostles, churchmen militant. 
Then domes and minarets, with convent towers, 
Again commingling rose. Then pilgrims came 
Crouching to Turkish lords, and rival sects 
Bargain'd and quarrell'd for the sepulchre/ 
Ineffable disgrace ! Loathsome abuse 
Of names and things most holy! Trodden down 
By all in turn, Pagan, and Frank, and Tartar, — 
So runs the dread anathema, — trodden down 
Beneath the oppressor; darkness shrouding thee 
From every blessed influence of heaven ; 


Thus hast thou lain for ages, iron-bound 

As with a curse. Thus art thou doom'd to lie : 

Yet not for ever. 

Mightiest Lord ! how long — 
How long, ere prophecy's dark veil withdrawn, 
Shall shew consummated thy wondrous schemes 
Of deepest wisdom ?— ere, the times fulfill'd, 
Jerusalem shall rise, and break her yoke 
Of bondage, shaking off her loathed weeds, 
And call her scatter'd sons from every clime 
To be again a nation ? — when the crescent 
Shall wane, and fade, and vanish ; and the troops 
Of demon shadows, as their altar fires 
Grow pale, shall shuddering flee the golden dawn ? 

O England ! O my country ! high and holy 
Is thy prerogative : the foremost thou 
To lead thy sons forth to the help of Heaven 
Against the mighty : holy this crusade, 


And waged with holier weapons. Thou secure 

Hast risen, like the ark, upon the waves 

That swept away the empires. Europe views, 

With hope-sick heart, upon thy towering cliffs, 

The sunshine resting which to her hath set. 

Thee grateful Afric worships, hailing thee 

Redeemer of her sons. Thy dreaded power 

Poor crouching India owns. When shall she learn 

To bless thy name ? Thou, in the darkened East, 

Hast risen in blood-red lustre. But e'en now, 

As higher thou art seen, purging thyself 

From that portentous hue, thy purer light 

Begins to shed a more benignant ray. 

O England ! high thy office ! Thou art named 

Chosen Evangelist of nations ! Send, 

O send thy Careys and thy Martyns forth, 

Thy living Bibles to the pagan world; 

And sound through every realm that trump of God 

Which bursts the bands of moral death, and bids 

The dry bones take the shape of man, and live. 


There was a nation — whisper not its name — 
Lords of the realm through which old Ganges rolls 
Her guilty stream,, land populous with gods, 
Olympus of the East : those Christian lords, 
Great Juggernaut's copartners, shared the gains 
Of his lewd triumphs, winking at the cheat. e 
Yea, and at Doorga feasts, the Christian fair 
Did graceful homage to the mis-shaped gods, 
And pledged the cup of demons/ Then we heard, 
To veil their shame, of Hindoo innocence : — 
Meek, simple, virtuous, mild idolaters, 
They needed not to learn the Christians' faith. 
Witness the dire suttee, the corse-strewn plain, 
Where vultures track the abominable car 
Of blood-stain'd lewdness. Eear thou witness too, 
River of hell, whose deadly baptism stains 
E'en to the soul its victim.? Witness ye 
Dark sanctuaries, whence shrieks, with laugh obscene 
Commingling, speak the worship and the god. 
O righteous sword of Mahomed, which gave 

B 5 


The shaven crowns of those infernal priests 

To their own goddess, a meet sacrifice, — 

Fresh beads for Kali's necklace. 11 Not with sword 

Or spear of earthly temper, sainted Ward, 

Didst thou, with thy heroic compeers, take 

The field, and patiently sit down before 

The thrice-entrenched Pandemonium 

Of central Ind. Slowly, by sap and mine, 

The painful siege proceeds; and many an arm 

Must fail, and many a martyr wreath be won, 

Until at length the powers of hell shall yield ; 

And He whose right it is, shall enter in 

To reign. Lift up your heads, ye fortress gates ! 

Ye long-closed barriers of the East, give way ! 

Land of the Sun, once thy fond idol ! Land 
Of rose-gardens, where aye the bulbul sings 
His most voluptuous song ! Thou mother-land 
And cradle of the nations ! Land of Cyrus ! 
(Shall e'er a second Cyrus spring from thee?) 


Thy palaces have heard a heavenly voice : 

A prophet's feet have trod thy burning soil : 

A a man of God" has left his name with thee. 

Thy sage Mollahs, say, have they yet resolv'd 

The Christian's knotty interrogatives ? i 

Go, send for aid to Mecca. Ha ! the Arab ! 

The Wahabite is there ! The Caliphate, 

Shrunk to the shadow of a name, survives 

But in thy Othman rival, who e'en now 

Sees Egypt lost, and quails before the Greek. k 

Rouse thee ! shake off the trammels of a creed 

Forged to enslave thee. From thy Soofish dreanib 

Awake to manlier life ; and, if thou canst, 

Call up thy ancient Magi from their rest, 

To lead thee to His rising, who returns 

To gladden thee, with healing in his beams, — 

The Sun whom thou mayst worship. Thy Euphrates 

Shall fiee his ancient channel, to prepare 

A passage for the monarchs of the East. 1 


And thou, u Celestial Empire \" teeming hive 
Of millions ! vast impenetrable realm ! 
The hour is writ in heaven, thy yellow sons 
Shall bow at the holy name, and woman there 
Relent into the mother. m Human loves 
And softest charities shall in the train 
Of heavenly faith attend. Thy wondrous wall 
Is scaled, thy mystic tongue deciphered now. n 

Where, in the furthest deserts of the deep, 
The coral-worm its architecture vast 
Uprears, and new-made islands have their birth, 
The Paphian Venus, driven from the West, 
In Polynesian groves long undisturb'd 
Her shameful rites and orgies foul maintain'd. 
The wandering voyager at Taheite found 
Another Daphne. On his startled ear, 
What unaccustom'd sounds come from those shores, 
Charming the lone Pacific ? Not the shouts 


Of war, nor maddening songs of Bacchanals; 
Hut, from the rude Morai, the full- toned psalm 
Of Christian praise. A moral miracle ! 
Taheite now enjoys the gladdening smile 
Of sabbaths. ° Savage dialects, unheard 
At Babel, or at Jewish Pentecost, 
Xow first articulate divinest sounds, 
And swell the universal Amen. 

Nature's forlornest children, they who haunt 
Her icy frontiers, on humanity's 
Extremest verge, leading amphibious life 
'Mid polar glooms; — e'en they on Greenland's coast, 
And horrid Labrador, have learn'd the sound 
Of heavenly tidings. Self-denying men 
Alike the scorching line and freezing pole P 
Have dared, to bear the message of their God 
To all the scatter'd fragments of our race. 
True soldiers of the Cross ! well worthy ye 


To join the martyr choir, who even now 
Await in bliss their amaranthine crowns. 

In milder latitudes the red man roves, 
Where vast Missouri gathers in his course 
A thousand streams. Noblest of savages, 
In war not quite a demon, and in peace 
Nought less than man, the Arab of the West ; — 
In him, yet unextinct, a faint remain 
Of Nature's primal creed, like a sick lamp 
Struggling with noxious darkness, strangely gleams. 
He nor to Brahma, Budh, nor Jupiter, 
Falls down ; but, with sublimer faith than erst 
Peopled Olympus with vile deities, 
Feels the Invisible, invokes his name — 
" Giver of Life 1" and calls his Maker good. q 
When shall these scattered flocks be gather'd home 
From the recesses of the wilderness, 
At the Good Shepherd's voice? When, in one fold, 
Couch with the lamb, the lion ? Runs not so 


The promise of the oracle ? Oh, then 
The white man shall forgive the Indian's hue, 
And the Great Spirit, looking* down, behold 
His children form one peaceful family. 

It spreads ! It spreads ! the tidings of relief 
To suffering Nature. — In those guilty isles, 
Where men grow rich with crime, distilling sweets 
From human veins, and marketing in blood, — 
The slave, amid his toils, catches the sound, 
And deems his yoke press lighter ; hears how Christ 
Died e'en for him, and feels himself a man. 
Thou Moloch wealth ! what sable hecatombs 
Of human victims on thine altars groan ! 
What marvel then if riches crow in hell? r 

But brighter days on western Afric dawn : 
The long-lost seed, with tears and patience sown, 
At length has pierced the parch'd and hungry soil ; 
And the Sierra smiles a Christian land. s 


Not long in enigmatic mystery- 
Shall Niger roll his stream,, nor Nilus keep 
The secret of his source. Those central glooms, 
Dark 'mid the glare of fiery noon, where basks 
The serpent, and the sovereign lion roams, 
Barbaric realms, to which, from Atlas top, 
Th' arch-foe might point exultant, and repeat 
His impious boast, Mine are they all ! l — for there 
Evil is throned and worshipp'd, — even there 
Shall penetrate the voice that demons flee. 
Press'd in on every side, Idolatry 
Shall see her fetish spells o'ermaster'd — see 
Her bestial symbols chased back to their dens,u 
Till, in his very citadel, the Power 
Of Darkness to the meek Redeemer yield. 

O Star ! the most august of all that clasp 
The star-girt heav'n, which erst in eastern skies 
Didst herald, like the light of prophecy, 
The Sun of Righteousness, — the harbinger 


Of more than natural day ; whether thou track 
The circuit of the universe, or thrid, 
As with a golden clew, the labyrinth 
Of suns and systems, still from age to age 
Auguring to distant spheres some glorious doom; 
Sure thou thy blessed circle hast well nigh 
Described, and in the majesty of light, 
Bending on thy return, wilt soon announce 
His second advent. Yes, even now thy beams 
Suffuse the twilight of the nations. Light 
Wakes in the region where gross darkness veil'd 
The people. They who in death's shadow sat, 
Shall hail that glorious rising; for the shade 
Prophetic shrinks before the dawning ray 
That cast it : forms of earth that interposed, 
Shall vanish, scatter'd like the dusky clouds 
Before the exultant morn ; and central day 
All shadowless, even to the poles shall reign. 

Volume of God ! thou art that eastern Star 


Which leads to Christ. Soon shall thy circuit reach 
Round earth's circumference, in every tongue 
Revealing to all nations, what the heavens 
But shadow forth, the glory of the Lord. 

And are there those, the wisdom of this world, 
Who, in base fear and blind astronomy, 
With astrolabe or quadrant watch thy path, 
Suspicious of thine aspect, save when seen 
In certain fair conjunctions, and in nodes 
Ideal; who would dare restrict thy light 
To time and rule ? O foul astrology ! 
Roll on ; free, boundless be thy beauteous course ! 
Roll on, and turn those angry clouds to light ! 

Vain, vain the despot's frown, the bigot's rage ! 
The gates of knowledge, that for ages slept 
Upon their massive hinges, while a few, 
By stealth or fee, through the low portal crept, 
Where jealous Power was sentineled, — those gates 


At length have yielded,, and the joyous poor 
Crowd eager through the wondrous avenue. 
Oh, throw them wider still : the infant race 
Shall learn to lisp Hosanna on their way. 

Who would not be a Christian ? Who but now 
Would share the Christian's triumph and his hope ? 
His triumph is begun. 'Tis his to hail, 
Amid the chaos of a world convulsed, 
A new creation rising. 'Mid the gloom 
Which wraps the low concerns of states and kings 
He marks the morning star, sees the far East 
Blush with the purple dawn ; he hears a trump, 
Louder than all the clarions and the clang 
Of horrid war, swelling, and swelling still, 
In lengthening notes, its all-awakening call, — 
The trump of Jubilee. Are there not signs, 
Thunders, and voices in the troubled air ? 
Do ye not see, upon the mountain tops, 
Beacon to beacon answering ? Who can tell 


But all the harsh and dissonant sounds which long- 
Have been — are still — disquieting the earth, 
Are but the tuning- of the varying parts 
For the grand chorus which shall usher in 
The hastening triumph of the Prince of Peace I 
Yes ; His shall be the kingdoms. He shall come, 
Ye scoffers at his tarrying. Hear ye not 
E'en now the thunder of his wheels? Awake, 
Thou slumbering world ! E'en now the symphonies 
Of that blest song are floating through the air, 
Peace, peace on earth, and glory be to God. 



a Page 5. 

The mumming priests usurp' d the christen d fane. 
" Either from design or accident, a chapel was dedicated to 
Venus on the spot which had been sanctified by the death and 
resurrection of Christ." Gibbon's Decline and Fall, c. 23. Dio 
Cassius affirms, that in the place where the temple of God had 
been, Adrian erected one to Jupiter. On the site of these pagan 
temples Christian churches were subsequently erected. But, in 
many instances, the edifice was left standing, and appropriated to 
the purpose of Christian worship. 

b Page 6. 
Again the nameless horrors of the siege 
Were acted o'er. 
When the ill-fated city was at length taken by storm, the 
carnage exceeded all description. The " pious" Godfrey, on en- 
tering it, set the example of avenging upon the helpless Saracens 
the Christian blood which had been spilled. Three days were 


devoted to a promiscuous massacre. On the third day after the 
victory, three hundred men, to whom Tancred and Gaston de 
Beam had promised protection, and had given a standard as a 
warrant for their safety, were murdered in cold blood by the 
soldiery. The subjugated and defenceless inhabitants, women 
with children at the breast, girls and boys, were dragged into the 
public places, and deliberately butchered ; while the synagogues 
were set on fire, and great numbers of Jews perished in the flames. 
Seventy thousand Moslems is the total number, according to Gib- 
bon, of those who were put to the sword ; and the infection of the 
dead bodies, he adds, produced an epidemic disease. Yet the con- 
querors could still reserve a multitude of captives, whom interest 
or lassitude persuaded them to spare. See Gibbon's Decline and 
Fall, c. lviii. ; and Mills's History of the Crusades, vol. i. 

c Page 6. 
The conqueror blusJi'd to take 
His golden crown, yet not refused the name^ 
King of Jerusalem, 
Godfrey of Bouillon was elected king of Jerusalem by the 
unanimous voice of the army ; and " his magnanimity," says 
Gibbon, " accepted a trust as full of danger as of glory. But, in 
a city where his Saviour had been crowned with thorns, the devout 
pilgrim rejected the name and ensigns of royalty ; and the founder 
of the kingdom of Jerusalem contented himself with the modest 
title of Defender and Baron of the Holy Sepulchre." Gibbon, 
c. lviii. The speech attributed to Godfrey on this occasion is, 
that he would not wear a crown of gold, where his Saviour had 
worn a crown of thorns. The title of king, however, if not as- 
sumed by Godfrey during his short reign, was claimed by his suc- 
cessors ; and he is uniformly mentioned as the first Christian king 
of Jerusalem. 


d Page 6. 

Then pilgrim* came 
Crouching to Turkish lords, and rival sects 
Bargained and quarrclVd for the sepulchre. 
" The occupation of the holy places is the great object of con- 
tention. They are in the hands of the Turks, by whom the right 
of occupation is sold to the highest bidder." Jowett's Christian 
Researches, p. 430. See also Richardson's Travels, vol. ii. p. 331. 

e Page 9. 

Those Christian lords, 
Great Juggernaut's copartners, shared the gains 
Of It is lewd triumphs, winking at the cheat. 
" The temple of Juggernaut (in Orissa) is under the im- 
mediate control of the English government, who levy a tax on 
pilgrims as a source of revenue." See Buchanan's Christian Re- 
searches, p. 143. 

f Page 9. 
Yea, and at Door ga feasts, the Christian fair 
Did graceful homage to the mis-shaped gods, 
And pledged the cup of demons. 
See 1 Cor. x. 20, 21. — "At some of these nantches (balls 
given in honour of the doorgas, or idols) I have seen two hundred 
persons sit down to a sumptuous supper, where champagne cir- 
culated like water, and the richest ices were melted in the most 
costly liquors. Of these suppers the Hindoos, of course, will not 
partake ; but they enter the apartment, congratulate the guests, 
and see that the European tavern-keepers, employed to prepare 

them, provide every thing on a liberal scale Some sit and 

look at the dances, while others promenade round the virandas to 
view the household gods, hundreds of whom are placed in con- 
spicuous situations ; some half-elephant, half -man ; others with 


numerous heads and arms ; here quite naked, there sumptuously 
arrayed." Fifteen Years in India, p. 276. 

g Page 9- 

Bear thou witness too, 
Hive?' of hell, whose deadly baptism stains 
E'en to the soul its victim. 
To prevent the practice of self-immolation and infanticide in 
the Ganges, the British government of India passed a law, in 
March, 1802, declaring any person guilty of murder, who should 
aid or assist in such sacrifices. See Asiatic Annual Register for 
1808. See also Ward's Farewell Letters, p. 71. 

L Page 10. 

Fresh beads for KalVs necklace. 
See Sketches of India, by an Officer, 8vo. p. 89. The god- 
dess Kali, or Kalee, is decorated with a necklace of human skulls. 

1 Page 11. 
Thy sage Mollahs, say, have they yet resolved 
The Christian s knotty interrogatives? 
" It was in that city (Shiraz) that he (Henry Martyn) com- 
posed many of the queries relative to the Mahommedan faith, 
none of which have yet been answered by the wisest sages and 
mollahs of Persia. Indeed, these staggering doubts, cast upon 
the creed of Mecca, have afforded unceasing occupation to the pen 
of Mirza Bezourk, the devout and learned minister of Abbas 
Mirza. But, after eight years' consideration, discussing, and 
writing on these stubborn points, still his labours, like the web 
of Penelope, seem sans fin ; for, dissatisfied with what is done, 
he frequently obliterates in one L day what has been the toil of a 
year at least." Porter's Travels in Georgia, Persia, &c. vol. ii. 
p. 23. 


k Page ] 1 . 

The Caliphate, 
Shrunk to the shadow of a name, survives 
But In thy Othman rival, who e*en now 
Sees Egypt lost, and quails before the Greek. 
•' The creed of the Wahabites arose from Abdul Waheb, its 
founder, in the year 1 760 : it is like that of the Soofees in Persia, 
and seems to allow only of a system of pure Theism, excluding 
Mahommed and Ali, and all the traditions of the Koran. After 
having travelled in Persia and India, Abdul, on his return to his 
own country, the Najd, erected an independent state, collected 
followers to his standard with the hope of plunder, and, marching 
against Mecca, plundered the mosques, and destroyed the inha- 
bitants. The Turkish government was alarmed, and sent against 
him the pasha of Syria, whose armies were defeated ; and, trusting 
rather to treachery than force, a treaty was concluded, and Abdul 
was assassinated. The son of Abdul avenged his father's death, 
and Mecca and Medina were again laid under contribution. The 
Prophet's tomb shared the fate of his descendants ; and of ali the 
holy places, nothing sacred or valuable was respected but the 
Caaba. The alarm of the divan, on account of these inroads, was 
the greater, lest the authority of the sultan should be questioned ; 
as he can only retain the name of c ali pit, vicar or successor of 
the Prophet,— a name so revered by Mahommedans, — whilst he 
is master of Mecca or of Medina. The Wahabites, though de- 
feated by the pasha of Egypt, still possess considerable power, and 
only wait a favourable moment to take vengeance on their enemies." 
Lord Valentia's Travels, vol. ii. c. 8. 

1 Page 11. 

Thy Euphrates 
Shall fee his ancient cJ tunnel, to prepare 
A passage for the monarchs of the East* 
Rev. xvi. 12. " A id the sixth angel poured out his vial upon 



the great river Euphrates, and the water thereof was dried up, that 
the way of the kings of the East might be prepared." 

m Page 12. 

Woman there 
Relent into the mother. 
About 9000 children, it is said, are annually exposed in the 
city of Pekin, and the same number in the rest of the empire. See 
Barrow's Travels in China. 

n Page 12. 

Thy mystic tongue deciphered now. 
Dr. Morrison has recently brought to a close his Chinese and 
English Dictionary, a work which has occupied more or less of 
his time during fifteen years. It is being printed at the sole ex- 
pense of the Hon. East India Company. The whole of the Bible 
has been translated into Chinese by Drs. Morrison and Milne con- 
jointly. Of the New Testament, three large editions have already 
been printed. The institution of the Anglo-Chinese College at 
Malacca promises the most important results. Sufficiently re- 
moved, by its local situation, from the interference of the Chinese 
authorities, it admits of an easy and extensive communication with 
the Chinese population scattered over the islands of the Indian 
archipelago, by whose means the knowledge of Christianity can- 
not fail eventually to extend itself to the continent. Ever since 
the year 1813 Divine Service has been more or less regularly per- 
formed, both in English and in Chinese, either at Macao or at 
Canton. See London Missionary Society's Report for 1823, pp. 

Page 13. 
A moral mi 
Taheite now enjoys the gladdening smile 
Of Sabbaths. 
M A nation of pilferers have become eminently trust- worthy. 


A people, formerly universally addicted to lasciviousness in all its 
forms, have become modest and virtuous in the highest degree. 
Those who, a few years ago, despised all forms of religion, except 
their own horrid and cruel superstitions, have universally declared 
their approbation of Christianity ; study diligently those parts of 
the Christian Scriptures which have been translated for them ; ask 
earnestly for more, and appear conscientiously to regulate them- 
selves by those Sacred Oracles, under the direction of their kind 
teachers, whose self-denying zeal and perseverance have been 
almost as remarkable as the success with which God has been 
pleased to honour them." London Missionary Society's Report 
for 1823, p. 3. 

p Page 13. 

Alike the scorching line and freezing pole. 
Some of the Moravian missionaries have actually undergone 
this transition, on changing their station in the Nicobar Islands for 
the coast of Greenland or Labrador. 

9 Page 14. 
" Giver of life!" 
" The Wahconda (master of life) is believed to be the greatest 
and btst of beings, the creator and preserver of all things, and the 
fountain of mystic medicine. Omniscience, omnipresence, and 
vast power are attributed to him ; and he is supposed to afflict them 
with sickness, poverty, or misfortune for their evil deeds. In 
conversation, he is frequently appealed to as an evidence of the 
truth of their asseverations.'" James's Account of an Expedition 
to the Rocky Mountains, vol. i. p. 246. " In respect to the origin 
of their religion, the Indians themselves are altogether ignorant. It 
is certain, however, that they acknowledge one supreme, all- 
powerful, intelligent being; viz. the Great Spirit, or the Giver of 

c 2 


life, who created and governs all things." Hunter's Memoirs of 
a Captivity among the Indians of North America, 8vo. p. 214. 

■ Page 15. 

What marvel then if riches grow in hell ? 

" Let none admire that riches grow in hell." Milton. 

8 Page 15. 
And the Sierra smiles a Christian land. 
For an account of the present state of that most interesting 
philanthropic experiment, the colony of Sierra Leone, see Mission- 
ary Register for July, 1823. 

1 Page 16. 
His impious boast, Mine arc they all! 
See Luke iv. 6. 

« Page 16. 
Her bestial symbols chased back to their dens. 
At Dixcove, in Ahanta on the Gold Coast, the crocodile is wor- 
shipped ; at Accra the hyena is the favourite object of adoration ; 
in the kingdom of Dahomey, the snake ; and vultures all over the 
coast. The practice of human sacrifices is equally prevalent. See 
Hutton's Voyage to Africa, p. 41. 




Why do the heathen rage ? Against the skies 
Why thus in vain with angry tumult rise? 
Kings of the earth, with impotent design, 
Against Jehovah and his Christ combine. 
Come, let us burst their bonds, they madly cry, 
And cast away their yoke. He who on high 
Sits throned in heaven, derides their impious dream, 
Hears their mad vaunts, and over-rules the scheme. 
Then speaks in thunder : Yet have I appointed 
Him to be King in Zion, my Anointed. 
To him Jehovah spake : Thou art my Son ! 
This day proclaims thee mine Eternal One. 
Ask for thy right : the nations all are thine; 
Earth's utmost bounds thy heritage divine. 


They who resist thy sceptre, are but clay 
Warring with iron, to their own dismay. 

Learn wisdom, then, ye kings ! ye rulers, hear ! 
Adore Jehovah's name with pious fear. 
Do homage to the Son, to whom are given 
All government on earth, all power in heaven. 
Submit ere wakes his anger : then, too late, 
The rebel shall relent. In awful state 
He comes, he comes, the Holy and the Just ! 
Then blessed they who in their Saviour trust ! 


The Lord my shepherd is, 

And He my soul will keep ; 
He knoweth who are his, 
And watch eth o'er his sheep. 
Away with every anxious fear : 
I cannot want while He is near. 


His wisdom doth provide 

The pasture where I feed : 
Where the still waters glide 
Along the quiet mead 
He leads my feet ; and, when I roam, 
O'ertakes and brings the wanderer home. 

He leads himself the way 

His faithful should take : 
Them who his voice obey, 
His love will ne'er forsake ; 
For He has pledged his holy name, 
He who for ever is the same. 

Let me but feel Him near, 

Death's gloomy pass in view, 
I '11 walk, without a fear, 

The shadowy valley through. 
With rod and staff, my shepherd's care 
Will guide my steps and guard me there. 

c 5 


Still is my table spread : 

My foes stand silent by. 
I feed on living- bread ; 
My cruse is never dry. 
And surely love and mercy will 
Attend me on my journey still. 

Still hope and grateful praise 

Shall form my constant song ; 
Shall cheer my gloomiest days, 
And tune my dying tongue — 
Until my ransom'd soul shall rise 
To praise Him better in the skies. 


For ever will I bless the Lord, 
Nor cease his praise to speak. 

My song his goodness shall record, 
That the oppress'd and weak 

May trust in Him, who will reward 
The humble and the meek. 


O magnify the Lord with me ! 

Come, join his name to bless. 
To Him did I in trouble flee : 

He saved me from distress. 
Oh, let him then your refuge be, 

Nor shall you fail success ! 

He is a God who heareth prayer : 
He raised me from the dust. 

And angel bands keep station where 
Dangers would harm the just. 

Oh, try his love, and trust his care : 
Blessed are they who trust ! 

O fear the Lord, ye saints of his ; 

Make him your trust and dread : 
Then cast off every care but this, 

For He will give you bread. 
The famish'd beast its prey may miss ; 

His children shall be fed. 


Ye who would length of days attain, 
And have your joy increase, 

Let truth your guarded lips restrain, 
From guile and falsehood cease ; 

From malice and revenge refrain, 
And follow after peace. 

God on his saints looks watchful down ; 

His ear attends their cry. 
The wicked sin beneath his frown ; 

Their very name shall die ; 
But He at length the just will crown 

With joy and victory. 

The broken heart His grace shall heal ; 

His hand the contrite raise. 
Many the woes the righteous feel, 

Yet still, in all their ways, 
Kept by his power, they bear the seal 

Of his redeeming grace. 


Evil shall be its own reward, 
And just the sinners fate. 

But Thou our ransom didst afford : 
Thy mercy, Lord, we wait. 

And none who wait upon the Lord 
Shall e'er be desolate. 


Be merciful, O God of grace, 
To us thy people. Let thy face 
Beam on us, that thy church may shine 
In this dark world, with light divine. 

That light divine, Oh, let it spread, 
Till all the darkness shall have fled ; 
And the false crescent's waning ray 
Be lost in the full noon of day. 


Reveal, O Lord, thy saving plan 
To all the families of man. 
Let distant nations hear Thy word : 
Let all the nations praise the Lord. 

Let them with joy thy praises sing, 
Earth's righteous Judge and sovereign King. 
Illumin'd by thy holy word, 
Let all the nations praise the Lord. 

Then shall this barren world assume 
New beauty, and the desert bloom. 
Our God shall richly bless us then, 
And all men fear his name. Amen. 



[Air. Handel's CIV^.] 

How honour'd, how dear,, 

That sacred abode, 
Where Christians draw near 

Their Father and God ! 
Mid worldly commotion, 

My wearied soul faints 
For the house of devotion, 

The home of thy saints. 

The birds have their home : 

They fix on their nest. 
Wherever they roam, 

They return to their rest. 
From them fondly learning, 

My soul would take wing; 
To Thee so returning, 

My God and my King ! 


O happy the choirs 

Who praise'Thee above ! 
What joy tunes their lyres ! 

Their worship is love. 
Yet, safe in thy keeping, 

And happy they be, 
In this world of weeping, 

Whose strength is in Thee. 

Though rugged their way, 

They drink, as they go, 
Of springs that convey 

New life as they flow. 
The God they rely on, 

Their strength shall renew, 
Till each brought to Zion 

His glory shall view. 

Thou Hearer of pray'r, 
Still grant me a place, 


Where Christians repair 

To the courts of thy grace ! 
More blest beyond measure 

One day so employed, 
Than years of vain pleasure 

By worldlings enjoy'd. 

Me more would it please 

Keeping post at thy gate, 
Than lying at ease 

In chambers of state. 
The meanest condition 

Outshines, with thy smiles, 
The pomp of ambition, 

The world with its wiles. 

The Lord is a sun : 

The Lord is a shield. 
What Grace has begun, 

With Glory is seal'd. 


He hears the distressed : 
He succours the just : 

And they shall be blessed 
Who make Him their trust. 


O sing unto Jehovah a new song : 
O sing unto Jehovah, all the earth. 

O sing unto Jehovah, and prolong 

From day to day His praise with holy mirth ! 

His glory to the Pagan world proclaim. 

Let Asia hear, and from her idols turn; 
Let fetter'd Afric hail Jehovah's name ; 

And the new world His ancient worship learn. 

Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised, 
The God of gods : Him only will we fear. 

Vain idols are all other gods : He raised 
The heavens, and bade the universe appear. 


Pou'r infinite and majesty sublime 

Precede his steps : He dwells in glorious light. 
Ascribe to Him, ye tribes of every clime. 

To Him alone, glory, and rule, and might ! 

O give to God the praise which is His due ; 

With offerings meet do homage at His throne. 
O worship Him with hearts devout and true ! 

Tremble, O earth ! thy Maker's presence own. 

Proclaim to earth's remotest bounds, He reigneth, 
Lord God Omnipotent* Soon, soon shall cease 

The world's commotions, while alone remaineth 
That kingdom which is righteousness and peace. 

Be glad, O heavens, and let the earth rejoice ; 

Ocean with all his waves exult; the dumb 
Break silence, and mute Nature find a voice; 

Green fields and woods rejoice: the Lord will 
come ! — 


Will come to judge the earth, to vindicate 
His justice and his truth, to break the chain 

Of Nature's bondage, — come to renovate 
Creation, and for evermore to reign ! 


Had not the Lord been on my side, 
How oft his saints may say ! 

Had not my God his aid supplied, 
When, fierce as beasts of prey, 

Men rose against me, I had been 

The helpless victim of their spleen. 

Had not the Lord been nigh to save, 

When troubles, like a tide, 
Came in upon me, wave on wave, 

Then had the deluge wide 
O'erwhelm'd me : then without control, 
The waters had gone o'er my soul. 


Blessed be God ! my prayer be beard, 

And harmless grew my foes. 
He broke the snare : the trembling* bird 

On joyful wing- arose. 
Our help, our trust is in the Lord, 
Who call'd forth all thing's by his word. 


I will ext<»l thy name, O God, my king: 
For ever will I bless Thee. Day by day 

Shall my glad lips Thy daily goodness sing; 
To Thee an everlasting tribute pay. 

Great is the Lord, unfathomably great : 
Exalted as his greatness be his praise. 

Oh, teach it to your children, and relate 

His deeds of might, the goodness of his ways. 

Tell of Jehovah's glorious majesty ; 

Tell of his power that spread the heavens abroad ; 


Tell of the flaming mount, the parting sea, — 

How earth, and sea, and heaven obeyed their God. 

Tell of the bread from heaven that daily fell; 

The new-born spring that made the desart glad ; 
The mystic guide, that constant miracle, 

A cloud by day, by night with glory clad. 

Gracious and merciful is God : how slow 

To anger, and how ready to forgive ! 
The Lord is good : how free his mercies flow ! 

His bounty is the life of all that live. 

Thee, all thy works, Maker omnipotent, 

Through all the various realms of nature praise : 

Thee, all thy saints, with voice intelligent 
Adoring, sing the wonders of thy ways. 

Oh, let them to an impious world proclaim 

That glory, power, and government are Thine ; 


Till earth confess the terrors of thy name, 

And king's to Thee their shadowy crowns resign. 

Thy kingdom is an everlasting- reign ; 

For ever Thy dominion must extend ; 
The universe Thy infinite domain, 

Enduring till eternity shall end. 

Our God is faithful : every word must stand. 

Nor can He chang-e, nor can Mis promise fail. 
The Lord upholds the falling-: his own hand 

Raises the prostrate, and supports the frail. 

On Thee all creatures wait. Lord,, Thou suppliest 
The beasts with food. They cry in their distr< 

Thou openest Thy hand, and satisfiest 

The wants of all that live with plenteous:.' 

The Lord is righteous, merciful as ju^t, 
Holy as merciful. The Lord is nigh 


To all that call upon Him as their trust : 
He will deliver, nor despise their cry. 

No harm can reach His children : they shall see 
The wicked perish, and adore his ways. 

My heart shall still, O God, exult in Thee : 
Let every tongue swell Thine eternal praise ! 



Praise Jehovah, all on high — 
Saints and angels fix'd in bliss, 
All ye countless hosts of his ; 
Sun by day, and moon by night, 
Praise Him, all ye stars of light; 
Highest heavens, and all things there, 
Waters poised in purest air, 

And all ye realms of sky ! 


Praise His name, at whose command, 
All things were, and all things stand : 
Still their ancient course they hold, 
By th' Almighty word controlled ! 


Praise Jehovah, all below — 
Watery depths, and all that be 
In the wonder-teeming sea; 
Central fire and icy hail, 
Dews, and snow, and stormy gale, 
Blowing only as He wills ; 
Ancient mountains, wood-clad hills, 
Palm and olive, oak and pine, 
Waving corn and clustering vine ; 
Forest beasts, and bleating herds, 
Creeping things, and soaring birds, 

And rivers as ye How : 

Monarchs, with your people all, 
Princes, peasants, great and small ; 



Manly youth and virgins shy, 
Age and lisping infancy, 
Praise Jehovah's glorious name : 
He alone doth worship claim. 
But His glory, vast, sublime, 
Passes earth, and heaven, and time. 
He His chosen seed hath blest : 
They should praise their Maker best, 
O ye saints, His love record : 
Praise, for ever praise the Lord ! 

" Hallelujah ! for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth." — Rev. 
xix. 6. 

The Lord is King ! lift up thy voice, 
O earth, and all ye heavens, rejoice ! 
From world to world the joy shall ring: 
The Lord Omnipotent is King. 


The Lord is King ! who then shall dare 
Resist His will, distrust his care, 
Or murmur at his wise decrees, 
Or doubt his royal promises ? 

The Lord is King! child of the dust, 
The Judge of all the earth is just. 
Holy and true are all His ways : 
Let every creature speak His praise. 

He reigns ! ye saints, exalt your strains : 
Your God is King, your Father reigns. 
And He is at the Father's side, 
The Man of love, the Crucified. 

Come, make your wants, your burdens known ; 
He will present them at the throne ; 
And angel bands are waiting there, 
His messages of love to bear. 



Oh, when His wisdom can mistake, 
His might decay, his love forsake, 
Then may his children cease to sing, 
The Lord Omnipotent is King. 

Alike pervaded by His eye, 

All parts of his dominion lie ; 

This world of ours and worlds unseen, 

And thin the boundary between. 

One Lord, one empire, all secures : 
He reigns — and life and death are yours. 
Through earth and heaven one song shall ring 
The Lord Omnipotent is King. 


• ; Who then can be saved ? . . . . With God all things are 
possible/' — Mark x. 37. 

Oh, how shall feeble flesh and blood 
Burst through the bonds of sin ? 

The holy kingdom of our God, 
What man shall enter in ? 

Despising all that worldlings love, 
By which the soul 's enslaved, — 

Forsaking all for things above, — 
Oh, who can thus be saved ? 

He who made all things, He who said, 

Let there be light, can give 
This saving strength, can raise the dead, 

And bid the sinner live. 

And will not He who ransom'd man, 
A Saviour's work fulfil ? 


Almighty is his power : He can. 
Boundless his love : He will. 

His word, his Spirit all ensures 
To them who trust his love. 

Here,, saints, shall victory be yours, 
And crowns of joy above. 

" My sheep hear my voice . . . and I give unto them eternal 
life ; and they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them 
out of my hand." — John x. 27 — 8. 

They whom the Father giveth 
By covenant to the Son, 

Must live, because He liveth, 
And Christ and they are one. 

The soul He deigns to cherish, 

Can never, never perish. 


Oh, who from his embraces 

Can pluck his ransom'd sheep? 
Earth has no hidden places : 

His eyelids never sleep. 
The keys of death he beareth ; 
Their heaven he now prepareth. 

Their sins — the Lord hath borne them : 

The Law — He satisfied. 
Transgressions — yes, they mourn them ; 

But, Tempter, Jesus died. 
My soul thy charge denieth : 
'Tis God that justifieth. 

The body where his Spirit 

As in a temple dwelt, 
Corruption may inherit; 

But, from its ruins built, 
Shall rise (oh, far excelling !) 
The soul's immortal dwelling. 


Christ watches o'er the embers 
Of all his faithful dead : 

There *s life for all the members 
In Him the living Head. 

Their dust he weighs and measures ; 

Their every atom treasures. 

He once, a victor bleeding, 

Slew Death, destroyed the Grave. 

Now, throned, yet interceding, 
He lives thy soul to save, 

He comes, O day of wonder ! 

The graves are rent asunder. 

But oh, that vast transition ! 

How shall a creature dare 
Gaze on the awful vision, 

To find a Saviour there ? 
They whom he deigns to cherish, 
Shall never, never perish. 


His mercy shall prevent them, 
His righteousness invest: 

He shall himself present them 
Before the Father, drest 

In robes of spotless whiteness, 

All beauty, joy, and brightness. 


u I am the living bread which came down from heaven. . . . 
Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life. 
.... I am the true vine."— John vi. 51 — 4, xv. I. 

Bread of Heav'n ! on Thee I feed, 
For thy flesh is meat indeed. 
Ever may my soul be fed 
With this true and living bread; 
Day by day with strength supplied, 
Through the life of Him who died. 

Vine of Heav'n ! thy blood supplies 
This blest cup of sacrifice. 

D 5 


Tis thy wounds my healing give : 
To thy Cross I look, and live. 
Thou my life ! Oh, let me be 
Rooted, grafted, built on Thee. 


Now with angels round the throne, 
Cherubim and seraphim, 
And the Church which still is one, 
Let us swell the solemn hymn. 
Glory to the great I AM ! 
Glory to the Victim-Lamb ! 

Blessing, honour, glory, might, 
And dominion infinite, 
To the Father of our Lord, 
To the Spirit and the Word ; 
As it was, is now, and then 
Shall be evermore : Amen. 



11 If Ood be for us, who can be against us?" — Rom. viii. 31, &c. 
[Air. No. XXXV. in Jowett's Musa? Solitaria?.] 

If all the world abhor us, 

Or, Satan, thou arraign'st us, 
If God, if God be for us, 

Who then can be against us ? 
Its foes the soul contemneth, 

Whom God has justified. 
Who is he that condemneth, 

Since it is Christ that died ! 

Yea, risen and ascended, 

He now our cause is pleading; 
There, till this world be ended, 

For ever interceding. 
From Him no separation 

His saints can apprehend : 
He who is their salvation, 

Will save them to the end. 


Not present pains or evils, 

Not sorest tribulations ; 
Not tyrants, no, nor devils, 

With all their fierce temptations : 
Nor aught of man's endeavour, 

Nor death, nor powers above. 
The ransom'd soul can sever 

From Jesus and his love. 


" Hath not God chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith, 
and heirs of the kingdom ?" — James ii. 5. 

As much have I of worldly good 

As e'er my Master had : 
I diet on as dainty food, 
And am as richly clad, 
Though plain my garb, though scant my board, 
As Mary's Son and Nature's Lord. 


The manger was his infant bed, 
His home, the mountain-cave. 
He had not where to lay his head ; 
He borrow'd ev'n his grave. 
Earth yielded him no resting-spot, — 
Her Maker, but she knew him not. 

As much the world's good-will I share, 

Its favour and applause, 
As He whose blessed name I bear, — 
Hated without a cause, 
Despised, rejected, mock'd by pride, 
Betray'd, forsaken, crucified. 

Why should I court my Masters foe ? 

Why should I fear its frown ? 
Why should I seek for rest below, 
Or sigh for brief renown r — 
A pilgrim to a better land, 
An heir of joys at God's right hand. 


" If any man serve me, let him follow me." — John xii. 26. 

How shall I follow Him I serve ? 

How shall I copy Him I love? 
Nor from those blessed footsteps swerve, 

Which lead me to his seat above ? 

Privations, sorrows, bitter scorn, 
The life of toil, the mean abode, 

The faithless kiss, the crown of thorn, 
Are these the consecrated road r 

'Twas thus he suffered, though a Son, 
Foreknowing, choosing, feeling all ; 

Until the perfect work was done, 
And drunk the bitter cup of gall. 


Oh, should my path through suffering He, 

Forbid it I should e'er repine ! 
Still let me turn to Calvary, 

Nor heed my griefs, remembering thine. 

But when, ray days with comforts crown'd, 

As husband and as parent bless'd, 
I look with tearful joy around, 

And clasp my treasures to my breast ; 

Oh, let me think how thou didst leave 

Untasted every pure delight, 
To fast, to faint, to watch, to grieve, 

The toilsome day, the houseless night : — 

To faint, to grieve, to die for me ! 

Tho a earnest not thyself to please ! 
And dear as earthly comforts be, 

Shall I not love thee more than these ? 


Yes, I would count them all but loss, 
To gain the notice of thine eye. 

Flesh shrinks and trembles at the Cross, 
But thou canst give the victory. 

Thou, who for Peter's faith didst pray, 
Against whose blessed self were hurl'd 

The Tempter's darts, be thou my stay ! 
Help me to overcome the world. 

Thy grace can make the boastful meek, 
The wavering firm, the sensual pure ; 

Put heavenly might upon the weak, 
And make them happy who endure. 

Oh, still that needful grace afford ! 

On thee my trembling soul I cast. 
Perfect thy work within me, Lord, 

And own my worthless name at last. 


More than they that watch for the morning." — Psalm cxxx. 6'. 

Oh, when will smiling morn 
Dispel the shades of night ? — 
But hark ! another hour is gone ! 
Oh, when will it be light ? 

But danc'd there not a beam 
Of daylight on my pane ? 
All ! 'twas the moon's inconstant beam ; 
Now all is dark again. 

Shine out, fair orb ! 'Tis sweet, 
While I in darkness lie, 
T' indulge awhile the bright deceit, 
And breathe th' alternate sigh. 


— Oh, darker far than night, 
Care's sullen shadows roll. 
I sit and watch in vain for light, 
The morning of the soul. 

And if athwart the scene, 
Hope her soft moonbeam cast, 
Again the clouds soon intervene, 

And the bright moment 's past. 

Or if around my head 
Fond dreams of pleasure dance, 
Reality, with thundering tread, 

Soon wakes me from my trance. 

But dimly through the gloom, 
Yon mountain top behold ! 
What radiant fires its head illume, 
And turn the clouds to gold ? 


Oh ! 'tis th' unrisen beams 
Of never-ending- day ! 
Fond Hope, shake off thy earthly dreams ; 
Pursue thy pilgrim way* 

Arise, and let us climb 
That sacred mountain's height, 
And look beyond the rocks of Time 
O'er boundless seas of light. 

O happy, happy spheres, 
Where sorrows never rise, 
And not a passing cloud appears, 
To shade the sapphire skies ! 

Fly on, ye years of night ! 
Oh, they will soon be past : 
Eternity appears in sight, 

And 'twill be morn at last. 




Nevertheless, I am continually with Thee." — Psalm lxxiii. 23. 

When, in the hour of lonely woe, 
I give my sorrows leave to flow, 
And care, and fear, and dark distrust, 
Weigh down my spirit to the dust ; 

W 7 hen not e'en Friendship's gentle aid 
Can heal the wounds the world has made ; 
Oh, this shall check each rising sigh, 
My Saviour is for ever nigh. 

His counsels and upholding care 
My safety and my comfort are : 
And he shall guide me all my days, 
Till glory crown the work of grace. 


Jesus ! in whom but Thee above, 
Can I repose my trust, my love? 
And shall an earthly object be 
Loved in comparison with Thee ? 

My flesh is hastening to decay ; 

Soon shall the world have pass'd away ; 

And what can mortal friends avail., 

When heart, and strength, and life shall fail? 

But oh, be thou, my Saviour, nigh, 
And I will triumph while I die. 
My strength, my portion is Divine ; 
And Jesus is for ever mine. 



" O Lord, thou hast searched me and known me."— Psalm 
cxxxix. 1. 

Lord ! whatever in mortal eyes 

My conscious soul appear,, 
Seen beneath that fair disguise 
Which veils the most sincere, 
Thou dost, with all-piercing view, 
Search my inmost spirit through : 

In my native vileness seen, 

Ere Grace subdued my will ; 
All the sinner might have been. 
All that makes me still 
Sigh or tremble, doubt or moan, 
Known to Thee, and Thee alone. 

In abasement at thy feet, 
Lord, I would ever lie. 


Yet, it is a mercy-seat, 
And I may venture nigh. 
Who the contrite shall condemn ? 
Christ hath died, and pleads for them. 

Let me still, in human sight, 

A holy semblance wear. 
What but Mercy Infinite 

Could perfect knowledge bear ? 
He that fashion'd knows my frame, 
And Forgiveness is his name. 

But if thine approving smile, 

My Father, cheer my breast, 
Let the world account me vile, 
It shall not break my rest. 
Strong in weakness I shall be ; 
Rich, however poor, in Thee. 



" I was brought low, and he helped me." — Psalm cxvi. 6. 

O thou God who hearest prayer, 
Every hour and every where ! 
Listen to my feeble breath 
Now I touch the gates of death. 
For His sake whose blood I plead, 
Hear me in my hour of need. 

Hear and save me, gracious Lord ! 
For my trust is in Thy word. 
Wash me from the stain of sin, 
That thy peace may rule within. 
May I know myself Thy child, 
Ransom'd, pardon'd, reconciled. 

Dearest Lord, may I so much 
As thy garment's hem but touch ; 


Or but raise my languid eye 
To the Cross where thou didst die ; 
It shall make my spirit whole, 
It shall heal and save my soui. 

— Thou art merciful to save ! 

Thou hast snatch'd me from the grave ! 

I would kiss the chastening* rod, 

O my Father and my God. 

Only hide not now thy face, 

God of all-sufficient grace ! 

Leave me not, my strength, my trust ! 
Oh, remember I am dust. 
Leave me not again to stray; 
Leave me not the Tempter's prey. 
Fix my heart on things above : 
Make me happy in Thy love. 

Sept. 1820. 



" Though he be not far from every one of us." — Acts, xvii. c 27 

Beyond, beyond that boundless sea, 

Above that dome of sky, 
Further than thought itself can flee, 

Thy dwelling- is on high : 
Yet, dear the awful thought to me, 

That Thou, my God, art nigh : — 

Art nigh, and yet my labouring mind 

Feels after Thee in vain, 
Thee in these works of power to find, 

Or to Thy seat attain. 
Thy messenger, the stormy wind, 

Thy path, the trackless main — 

These speak of Thee with loud acclaim ; 
They thunder forth thy praise, 


The glorious honour of Thy name, 

The wonders of Thy ways : 
But Thou art not in tempest- flame, 

Nor in day's glorious blaze. 

We hear thy voice, when thunders roll, 

Through the wide fields of air. 
The waves obey Thy dread control ; 

Yet still Thou art not there. 
Where shall I find Him, O my soul, 

Who yet is every where ? 

Oh, not in circling depth, or height, 

But in the conscious breast, 
Present to faith, though veil'd from sight, 

There does His Spirit rest. 
O come, thou Presence Infinite, 

And make thy creature blest. 

Happisburgh, June, 1322. 

E 2 




Mysterious Visitant, whose beauteous light 

Among the wondering stars so strangely gleams ! 
Like a proud banner in the train of Night, 

Th' emblazon'd flag of Deity it streams — 

Infinity is written on thy beams ; 
And thought in vain would through the pathless sky 

Explore thy secret course. Thy circle seems 
Too vast for Time to grasp. Oh, can that Eye 
Which numbers hosts like thee, this atom Earth 

O Thou, my every hope, my only fear ! 

Father of lights, round whom the systems roll, 
With all their suns and comets, sphere on sphere, 

Thine all-pervading energy the soul, 


Thyself the centre of the mighty whole ! 
When death shall purge this film of sense away, 

And truth with irresistible control 
Shall seize my ravish'd mind, — that awful day 
How shall my soul sustain, that infinite survey ? 

Then shall I shudder at the guilty past, 
Feeling thy awful presence on my heart. 

Was it at Thee, O God, my sins I cast ? 
Oh, on my trembling soul thy mercy dart, 
For now I feel how terrible Thou art. 

Thou wert all-present, and I saw Thee not : 
Thou art my bliss, and yet I said, Depart : 

Murmur'd, though boundless Goodness fix'd my lot: — 

And wilt Thou own the soul that Thee so oft forgot ? 

O wondrous thought ! the High and Holy One 

Inhabiting eternity, will make 
The humble soul his dwelling-place. The Sun 

Whose rising beams on orbs innumerous break, 


Doth shine as much for the poor reptile's sake. 
To Him is nothing great, is nothing small. 

He fills a world : He bids the insect take 
Its being full of bliss : He form'd them all. 
He guides the Comet's course, he marks the spar- 
row's fall. 

Man — man, though in the dust his reptile birth, 

Behold his nature now to God allied ; 
Link'd to the golden throne this creature Earth 

By ties that shall eternally abide. 

Let suns, let systems perish — Jesus died : 
Nor shall one vital spark be quench'd in night, 

Which God has kindled. Here, my soul, confide, 
Safe in the arms of Everlasting Might, 
And circled with the beams of Uncreated Light. 




What is this world at best, 
Though deck'd in vernal bloom, 
By Hope and youthful Fancy drest? 
What but a ceaseless toil for rest,— 
A passage to the tomb ? 
If flowrets strew 
The avenue, 
Though fair, alas ! how fading and how few : 

And every hour comes arm'd 
By care or keener woe : 
Conceal'd beneath its little wings, 
A scythe the soft-shod pilferer brings, 
To lay some comfort low; — 
Some tie to unbind, 
By love entwined, — 
Some silken bond that holds the captive mind. 


And every month displays 
The ravages of Time. 
Faded the flowers, the summer past, 
The scatter d leaves, the chilling blast, 
Warn to a milder clime. 
The songsters flee 
The leafless tree, 
And bear to happier realms their melody. 

Henry ! the world no more 
Can claim thee for her own : 
In purer skies thy radiance beams ; 
Thy lyre employ'd on nobler themes 
Before the Eternal throne. 
Yet, Spirit dear ! 
Forgive the tear 
Which they must shed, who 're doom'd to linger here. 

Although a stranger, I 

In Friendship's train would weep. 


Lost to the world, alas ! so young ! 
And must thy lyre, in silence hung, 
On the dark cypress sleep ? 
The poet, all 
Their friend may call ; 
And Nature's self attends his funeral. 

Although with feebler wing, 
Thy flight would I pursue 
With quicken'd zeal, with humbled pride, 
Alike our object, hope, and guide, 
One heaven alike in view. 
True, it was thine, 
To tower, to shine ; 
But I may make thy milder virtues mine. 

If Jesus own my name, 
Though Fame pronounce it never, 
Sweet Spirit, not with Thee alone, 
But all whose absence here I moan, 

E 5 


Circling with harps the golden throne, 
I shall unite for ever. 

At death then why 
Tremble or sigh ? 
Oh, who would wish to live, but he who fears to die ? 

Dec. 1807. 


" It is not that my lot is low, 
That bids this silent tear to flow ; 
It is not grief that bids me moan : 
It is that I am all alone." 

But art thou thus indeed alone, 
Quite unbefriended, all unknown ? 
And hast thou then His name forgot, 
Who form'd thy frame, and nVd thy lot ? 


Is not His voice in evening's gale ? 
Beams not with Him the star so pale - 
Is there a leaf can fade and die 
Unnoticed by His watchful eye ? 

Each fluttering hope, each anxious fear, 
Each lonely sigh, each silent tear, 
To thine Almighty Friend are known : 
And say'st thou, " I am all alone }" 



[S.J. ob. Mar. 13, 1822.] 

Go, said the Lord of Death, 

The Sovereign of the Grave : 
One of the nine must yield his breath, 

For I must smite to save. 
The monster at the bidding sped, 
But angels waited on his tread. 


Ah, which can best be spared ? 

Whom will the rest resign ? 
Or rather, which is best prepared 

To say, The turn be mine, 
First to engage the mighty foe ? 
'Tis Death approaches — who will go ? 

The loveliest and the dearest, 
Whose smile threw gladness round : 
The loss of whom, to all severest, 

Shall plant the deepest wound, — 
Their pride, their life, their solace — she, 
Said the dread voice, my bride shall bee 

Vain boast ! 'Twas not thy choice, 
O Death, that laid her low. 
The mandate was a Father's voice. 

And wisdom ruled the blow : 
The fleshly robe alone thy prey, 
While angels bore the soul away. 


I heard from heaven crying, 

An angel voice that said, 
Bless'd are the dead, in Jesus dying, 

Yea, blessed are the dead. 
Sleep thou in Christ, my sister ! Rest 
Is thine, the slumber of the blest. 

I heard, from earth proceeding, 

Another voice proclaim : 
This dust, in beauty far exceeding 

The frail, decaying frame, 
Shall be refunded all, shall rise 
Fit for the service of the skies. 

Ah, soon the cheek is dry, 

And wounds the deepest heal : 
Memory at length forgets to sigh, 

And Grief forgets to feel. 
Soon spreads the turf, and flowrets bloom 
O'er the abysses of the tomb. 


Then, while the cheek is wet, 
And while the heart is wise, 

And, blending* with each fond regret, 
Some better thought s arise, 

Let Heaven each soften d heart obtain, 

Nor let a sister die in vain. 


" Animula vagula, blandula, 
Hospes comesque corporis, 
Qua? nunc abibis in loca, 
Pallidula, rigida, nudula ? 
Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos." 

Emperor Adrian to his Soul. 


TO *****. 

O that in unfetter'd union 
Spirit could with spirit blend ! 


O that in unseen communion 

Thought could hold the distant friend ! 
Who the secrets can unravel 

Of the body's mystic guest ? 
Who knows how the soul may travel, 

While unconsciously we rest ? 

While, in pleasing thraldom lying, 

Seal'd in slumber deep it seems, 
Far abroad it may be flying: — 

What is Sleep ? and what are Dreams ? 
Earth, how narrow thy dominions, 

And how slow the body's pace ! 
O to range on eagle pinions 

Through illimitable space ! 

What is Thought ? In wild succession 
Whence proceeds the motley train ? 

What first stamps the vague impression 
On the ever active brain ? 


What is Thought? and whither tending, 
Does the subtle phantom flee ? 

Does it, like a moonbeam ending, 
Shine, then melt to vacancy ? 

Has a strange, mysterious feeling, 

Something shapeless, undefined, 
O'er thy lonely musings stealing, 

Ne'er impress'd thy pensive mind ; 
As if he, whose strong resemblance 

Fancy at that moment drew, 
By coincident remembrance 

Knew your thoughts, and thought of you : 

When, at Mercy's footstool bending, 
Thou hast felt a sacred glow, — 

Faith and Hope to heaven ascending, 
Love still lingering below; — 

Say, has ne'er the thought impress'd thee, 
That thy friend might feel thy prayer ? 


Or the wish at least possess'd thee,, 
He could then thy feelings share ? 

Who can tell ? — that fervent blessing — 

Angels, did ye hear it rise ? 
Do ye, thus your love expressing, 

Watch o'er human sympathies ? 
Do ye some mysterious token 

To the kindred bosom bear, 
And, to what the heart has spoken, 

Wake a chord responsive there ? 

Laws, perhaps, unknown but certain, 

Kindred spirits may control : 
But what hand can lift the curtain, 

And reveal the awful soul ? 
Dimly through life's vapours seeing, 

Who but longs for light to break? 
O this feverish dream of being ! 

When, my Friend, shall we awake ? 


Yes, the hour, the hour is hasting, 

Spirit shall with spirit blend. 
Fast mortality is wasting : 

Then the secret all shall end. 
Let, then, thought hold sweet communion, 

Let us breathe the mutual prayer, 
Till in Heaven's eternal union — 

O, my Friend, to meet thee there ! 


O the hour when this material 

Shall have vanish'd as a cloud ; — 
When, amid the wide ethereal, 

All the invisible shall crowd, 
And the naked soul, surrounded 

With realities unknown, 
Triumph in the view unbounded, 

Feel herself with God alone ! 


In that sudden, strange transition, 

By what new and finer sense 
Shall she grasp the mighty vision, 

And receive its influence ? 
Angels, guard the new immortal 

Through the wonder-teeming space, 
To the everlasting portal, 

To the spirit's resting-place. 

Will she then, with fond emotion, 

Aught of human love retain ? 
Or, absorl/d in pure devotion, 

Will no earthly trace remain ? 
Can the grave those ties dissever, 

With the very heart-strings twined ? 
Must she part, and part for ever, 

With the friend she leaves behind ? 

No: the past she still remembers: 
Faith and Hope, surviving too, 

92 sacred poems. 

Ever watch those sleeping embers 
Which must rise and live anew. 

For the widow'd, lonely spirit 
Mourns till she be clothed afresh, 

Longs perfection to inherit, 
And to triumph in the Jlesk. 

Angels, let the ransom'd stranger 

In your tender care be blest, 
Hoping, trusting, safe from danger, 

Till the trumpet end her rest; 
Till the trump which shakes creation, 

Through the circling heavens shall roll, 
Till the day of consummation, 

Till the bridal of the soul. 

Can I trust a fellow-being ? 

Can I trust an Angel's care ? 
O thou merciful All-seeing, 

Beam around my spirit there ! 


Jesus, blessed Mediator 

Thou the airy path hast trod, 
Thou the Judge, the Consummator, 

Shepherd of the fold of God ! 

Blessed fold ! no foe can enter, 

And no friend departeth thence. 
Jesus is their sun, their centre, 

And their shield Omnipotence. 
Blessed ! for the Lamb shall feed them, 

All their tears shall wipe away, 
To the living fountains lead them, 

Till Fruition's perfect day. 

Lo ! it comes, that day of wonder! 

Louder chorals shake the skies. 
Hades' gates are burst asunder : 

See ! the new-clothed myriads rise. 
Thought, repress thy weak endeavour : 

Here must Reason prostrate fall. 
() the ineffable For Ever, 

And the Eternal All in All ! 



As through the mazy path of life I stray, 

While Youth and Hope as yet my steps attend, 
I love at times to pause, and strew the way 

With the wild blossoms that luxuriant pend 
From Spring's gay branches ; that whene'er I send 

My Memory to retrace my pilgrimage, 
She by those flowers her winding course may bend 

Back through each twilight path and weary stage, 
And with those early flowers wreathe the white brow of Age. 



'J'Q # * * * * 4 

Thou Lady dear, for whom I wake the string, 

With hand well nigh forgetful of its art, — 
Thou only one for whom I care to sing, 

Who first didst make the thrill of music dart 
Through every chord that vibrates in my heart, 

By thee attuned to gladness ! Lady, say, 
What tuneful mode may best my love impart, 

This hallow'd morn, — the sweetly solemn lay, 
Or numbers wild and free, my heart as light as they ? 


They said that I was grave. Dear Lady, yes : 
Joy may assume the pensive brow of Care. 



The tear of rapture and the sigh of bliss, 
The deep and earnest feeling best declare. 

When fresh with sunny showers the soften'd air 
First breathes of Spring, when first the milder skies 

Reveal that bright blue heaven, while lessening there, 
Th' exultant lark trills his loud melodies, 

And to the voice of Hope the echoing vale replies ; — 


Perchance, from distance borne, the merry peal 

Swells on the ear, accordant with the scene : 
Is it then sadness which doth strangely steal 

On the full heart, changing the gayest mien 
To seeming sorrow ? No : 'tis too serene 

For grief, for mirth too solemn, too refined. 
Then, Dearest, know by this, what oft have been 

My feelings, when, to pensiveness resign'd, 
The thought, the sense of thee has fill'd my raptured 



That sunny smile, those tones of gentleness, 

More than the songs and balmy sweets of Spring, 
Subdue my soul. I would not feel them less; 

Yet, o'er thy brow when passing shadows fling 
A kindred sadness, it awakes the sting 

Of self-reproach ; I would that I were gay : 
I feel a poor, dull, melancholy thing, 

And wish that I could laugh my cares away, 
Joy in the present hour, nor hope beyond to-day. 


For brightest hopes will shadowy terrors cast : 

The sun which gives them brightness, throws the 
Oh, would to-day ne'er melt into the past, 

Nor fear nor hope my bosom should invade ! 
But hope and fear are sweet ; far overpaid 
Each anxious hour of self-rewarding toil, 
Since 'tis for thee, the every effort made. 

v 2 


Oh, let me only see thy peaceful smile, 
And I in quiet hope will serve thee yet awhile. 


But shall I ever say to Hope farewell, 

Or cease for thee to woo the future good ? 
No :. still shall this returning day impel 

The ardent prayer that blends with gratitude, 
And lifts the heart to heaven. By Hope renew'd, 

Love still shall burn, unquench'd its pure desires, 
By Joy unsated, nor by Care subdued ; 

Till, in that world where Hope, where Faith ex- 
Nor Age nor Time shall dim its undecaying fires. 

April 6, 1814. 



That is not Home, where, day by day, 
I wear the busy hours away. 
That is not Home, where lonely night 
Prepares me for the toils of light. 
'Tis hope, and joy, and memory, give 
A home in which the heart can live. 
These walls no lingering hopes endear : 
No fond remembrance chains me here. 
Cheerless I heave the lonely sigh — 
Eliza, need I tell thee why ? 
'Tis where thou art is home to me, 
And home without thee cannot be. 

There are who strangely love to roam, 
And find in wildest haunts their home ; 
And some in halls of lordly state, 
Who yet are homeless, desolate. 


The warriors home is tented plain ; 
The sailor's, on the stormy main ; 
The maiden's, in her bower of rest ; 
The infant's, on his mother's breast. 
But where thou art, is home to me, 
And home without thee cannot be. 

There is no home in halls of pride : 
They are too high, and cold, and wide. 
No home is by the wanderer found : 
'Tis not in place ; it hath no bound. 
It is a circling atmosphere 
Investing all the heart holds dear ; — 
A law of strange attractive force, 
That holds the feelings in their course. 
It is a presence undefined, 
O'ershadowing the conscious mind, 
Where Love and Duty sweetly blend, 
To consecrate the name of Friend. 
Where'er thou art. is home to me, 
And home without thee cannot be. 


My Love, forgive the anxious sigh — 
I hear the moments rushing by, 
And think that life is fleeting fast, 
That youth with us will soon be past. 
Oh, when will Time, consenting, give 
The home in which my heart can live ? 
There shall the Past and Future meet, 
And o'er our couch, in union sweet, 
Extend their cherub wings, and show'r 
Bright influence on the present hour. 
Oh, when shall Israel's mystic guide, 
The pillar'd cloud, our steps decide, 
Then, resting, spread its guardian shade 
To bless the home which Love has made ? 
Daily, my Love, shall thence arise 
Our hearts' united sacrifice ; 
And home indeed a home will be, 
Thus consecrate and shared with Thee. 




Yes, the sigh will escape one, the tear of regret, 
Though the charms of the scene may be few, 

At resigning the dwelling where oft we have met, 
And exchanged the impassion'd adieu. 

The eye of the stranger shall wander around, 
His feet through each chamber shall roam, 

Nor heed the mute records that tapestry round 
To our fancy, the walls of that home — 

Thy home, ere the cares and the joys of another 

In hope's far perspective appear'd ! 
Long clings the fond heart to the home of a mother, 

The haunt to a lover endear'd. 


Oh_, bad not that lover continued the same, 
When the bride left all other behind, 

And had not thy husband's affection a claim 
To compensate for all she resign'd, — 

Then, then, could he pardon these tears of regret, 

Which now unforbidden shall fall ? 
They would seem to reproach me that e'er we had 

They would seem that adieu to recall. 

Or were there, Eliza, ensepultured here, 
Any hopes that the future had crost, — 

Any vows we had broken, remembrances dear, 
In death or forgetful ness lost ; — 

Had some beloved inmate here languish'd her last, 

And were we now taking our leave 
Of the few fading tokens that spake of the past, 

Oh, bitterly then might we grieve. 

F 5 


But now, not a spectre shall linger around, 

O'er its desolate walks to complain : 
And Change may her ploughshare drive over the 

Where no seeds undevelop'd remain. 

Then bestow not a sigh more on fond retrospection ! 

Thrice welcome, my Love, shalt thou be 
To the far dearer home of a husband's affection, 

Who possesses no home without thee. 

That ishome, whether beech-woodsin loveliness shade it, 

And tempt us at evening to roam, 
Or the smoke and the din of the city invade it, — 

Where centres the heart, that is home. 

Oh ! the time will arrive when each place we have 

Shall resound with our footsteps no more. 
A stranger shall call our last dwelling his own, 

Regardless who dwelt there before. 


And there is a home where the heart shall recover 

Whatever upon earth might not last. 
What a meeting- for Parent, and Sister, and Lover, 

When all parting, all fears shall be past ! 



With thee, amid the wild recesses 

Whence dreams of Fancy date their birth, 

Where Nature's hand profusely dresses 
Her green and flowery earth ; — 

With thee, along the rushy mazes 

Our wood-hung streamlet wanders through, 
Where king-cups weave with gold-eyed daisies 

The waters' living clew ; — 

With thee I Ve shared the deepest pleasures 
That Love o'er souls refined can pour, 


And gazed on all the richest treasures 
Of earth's romantic store. 

With thee ! O words of sense emphatic ! 

Spring-buds, and autumn-fall, 
And summer prime — hours most ecstatic, 

Without thee, what were all ? 

For I have trod the mossy border 

Of woods that guard that haunted stream, 
And watch'd all seasons in their order 

Ruled by the changing beam. 

The early wreaths that blow fantastic, 
Each shade and change of forest green, 

And shapes grotesque that breezes plastic 
Fix on the wintry scene : 

These, fraught with secret inspiration, 
Have held me in communion deep, 


Till, thriird with exquisite sensation, 
My very heart would weep. 

Yet, dearer lives in my remembrance 

One autumn day, that briefly fled, 
Than all those months whose beauteous semblance 

Still hovers round my head. 

Thy presence gave the charm elysian 
To all that breathed around me there ; 

And memory of it fills the vision 
With hours for ever fair. 

Then, though exchanged the blest creation 

For tumult and the world's alloy, 
Thy presence still, in every station, 

Makes all my sum of joy. 

No fond regrets nor vagrant fancies 
Shall from my bosom draw a sigh, 


For scenery which the soul entrances, 
— , while thou art by. 

And oh, that day, where'er its brightness 

On wilderness or city shine, 
My heart shall welcome in with lightness, 

My Love, while thou art mine. 



Do I not love thee ) Yes, how well, 
Thou best, thou only, Love, canst tell : 
For other eyes have never seen 
How much a look of mine can mean ; 
Nor other lips than thine can guess 
How deep the feeling mine express. 
But thee both eyes and lips have told, 
Most truly, that I am not cold. 


Yet now, in absence, all tliou art, 
Rushes afresh upon my heart, 
And makes me feel that heart not yet 
Has ever half discharged its debt. 
For Memory, as to mock me, brings 
A crowd of half- forgotten tilings 
That Love before had scarcely leisure 
To think upon, for present pleasure; 
Reproaching me with virtues slighted, 
And deeds of kindness unrequited : 
While shadowy, awful, undefined, 
The Future rises to my mind, 
And as its depths my thoughts explore, 
I seem to feel thine absence more. 
Shuddering I strive to pierce its shade, 
By Love a very coward made ; 
Then turn to meet thy smile. But thou 
Art distant — future — shadowy now. 
Oh, art thou still a breathing form, 
Lovely, and tangible, and warm ? 


So parted utterly we seem, 
As though the past were all a dream ; 
And thou, as if unearthly, Dearest, 
A hallow'd, saintly thing appearest : 
So long from sight and touch estranged, 
I almost dread to meet thee changed. 

Oh, say, do wayward thoughts like these, 
Tender regrets, wild phantasies, 
And vague misgivings, ever find 
Unbidden entrance to thy mind ? 
Oh, it would absence half repay, 
To know my spirit held such sway 
O'er thine, as that thou couldst not be, 
Nor feel thyself, apart from me. 

But absence cannot be repaid : 
Fast, fast, the fleeting moments fade, 
That make up life's allotted sum, 
Brief and uncertain all to come. 


Then let us not consume apart 
The youth and spring-time of the heart. 
Enough has absence proved thy power: 
Return, and I will bless the hour 
That tells me all my fears were vain, 
And gives me back my home again. 



[C.J. C. ob. Jan. 1818.] 

When I can trust my all with God, 

In trial's fearful hour, 
Bow all resign'd beneath his rod, 

And bless his sparing power, 
A joy springs up amid distress, 
A fountain in the wilderness. 


Oh, to be brought to Jesus' feet, 
Though sorrows fix me there, 

Is still a privilege ; and sweet 
The energies of prayer, 

Though sighs and tears its language be, 

If Christ be nigh, and smile on me. 

An earthly mind, a faithless heart, 

He sees with pitying eye : 
He will not let his grace depart, 

But, kind severity ! 
He takes a hostage of our love, 
To draw the parents' hearts above. 

There stands our child before the Lord, 

In royal vesture drest ; 
A victor ere he drew the sword, 

Ere he had toil'd, at rest. 
No doubts this blessed faith bedim : 
We know that Jesus died for him. 


Oh, blessed be the hand that gave ; 

Still blessed when it takes. 
Blessed be He who smites to save, 

Who heals the heart he breaks. 
Perfect and true are all his ways, 
Whom heaven adores, and death obeys. 

Jan. 1318. 


[YTinchelsea, Aug. 1819.] 

Here rest, my Love, and let the pencil's art 
That arch's lightness, and the mouldering tower, 
In just perspective give. 'Tis now the hour 

When Memory's softness falls upon the heart, 

Like twilight on the landscape. Part by part, 
The imaged ruin forms beneath thy hand, 
Graceful and true. But wherefore at a stand ? 

At Time's sepulchral voice does Fancy start ? 


No : tenderer thoughts rush in. Since thou wert here, 
How much has intervened of waking bliss ! 

The lover changed to husband, name more dear, 
And three sweet babes have shared the mother's kiss. 

One sweetest flower expands beneath our eyes, 

And two are blossoming in Paradise. 

TO E. R. C. 


Three things alone the world defy; 

Over three things it hath no power ; 
The rapturous joy of infancy, 
The love that lives in woman's eye, 
And faith, that gives the victory 

In trial's darkest hour. 


Dear boy, the first is all thy own ! 

Thy careless, sinless glee 
I well might envy, had I known 
No heartfelt joy of deeper tone. 
Laugh on — thou shalt not laugh alone : 

Who but must laugh with thee ? 

And o'er thee bends — her kindling eye 
With all a mother's fondness beams — 

Whose smiles, amid the cares that try 

The man, a solid bliss supply, 

Above the joys of infancy, 
Or boyish fancy's dreams. 

The time will come — it must be so— 

The world shall cloud thy childish bliss : 
Yet would thy father joy to know, 
Dear child, thy chequer'd lot below, 
Should, with no heavier care or woe, 
Blend comforts such as his. 


Should Heaven thy budding sweetness spare 
To distant birthdays, all too soon 

That mirth must yield to thoughts of care ; 

For thou the common lot must share. 

And be it so : our anxious prayer 
Invokes no earthly boon. 

God be thy portion, God thy guide, 
On whom thy parents* hope relies. 
Thine be the faith — it must be tried — 
By which the world may be defied : 
Enough, dear child, whate'er betide, 
To meet thee in the skies. 



Happy, 'mid nought but happiness, 
The new-made beings stood : 


God from his throne look'd down to bless 

The work he saw was good, 
And pleased, the not yet mortals bade 
People the Eden he had made — 

With happy beings — so He will'd — 

Who, had not man rebelled, 
Should the new world with joy hare fill'd, 

And peaceful empire held 
O'er countless forms of varied life, 
Deathless and innocent of strife. 

Dear, then, had been the painless birth ; 

For oh, what joy to be 
The mother of a child of earth 

From taint or danger free, 
And add one happy being more 
To none but happy ones before ! 

Unchanged the law, how the dread curse 
On sinning Woman fell, 


The pangs that mothers feel,, and worse, 

Their aching hearts may tell ; — 
In penal sorrow doom'd to bear, 
Frail as its parent, sorrow's heir. 

But is the blessing quite withdrawn r 

No — unto us is given 
A Son, a Child of Woman born, 

Yet Heir and Lord of Heaven, 
Through whom our infant race shall rise, 
And fill a better Paradise. 

O thou fond, tender, suffering one, 

Ev'n in thy hour of woe, 
Rejoice to bear another son, 

To toil awhile below 
Life's little chequer'd day, then die 
To put on immortality. 

There 's joy upon this blighted earth, 
For babe and mother joy ; 


The happy days of infant mirth, 

The raptures of the boy : 
Nor can the world a bliss impart, 
Like that which warms a mother's heart. 

Is it not said, that from the Lord 

These precious boons descend ? 
The fruit of love is His reward, 

And love His gifts intend. 
His gifts are good, His laws are wise : 
These are not f€ blessings in disguise." 


December! thou art old and hoar; 

Thy voice is rough, thy hand is cold : 
The blood at every closing pore 

Shrinks from thy touch. Yet, hoar and old 



Though thou appear, 

That form severe 
Seems the fresh hue of health to wear. 
Earth, now in Winter's fleecy dress, 
The kind severity shall bless 

That laid her forests bare. 

Dear Emma, what is Winter's snow. 
Or what, affliction's keener storm ? 
If the young mind with action glow, 
If all within the heart be warm, 
We '11 bravely meet 
The arrowy sleet, 
And firmly tread the iron stream. 
Secured beneath the frozen soil, 
The hopes, the joys for which we toil, 
Wait but the vernal beam. 

Whatever sign may rule our sky. 
As still revolves the order'd year, 


i is the same sun that rolls on high, 
Felt when unseen, in Winter near : 
While Goodness still., 
With matchless skill, 
T<> every month its task assigns : 
November pours her chilly rains, 
Or laughing May inspires the veins,. 

While Heaven around her shines. 

What though of dark December born, 

My sister! Thou shalt one day know, 
H :»w all the blasts that chill thy morn, 
The mist, the tempest, and the snow, 
Severely kind, 
Have braced thy mind, 
And clear'd the world's infectious air ; 
Preparing thee for brighter skies, 
The cloudless suns of Paradise : — 
There is no winter there. 

Dec. 5, 1811. 

g 2 





What message did the Angel bring ? 

For sure from Heaven he came. 
Sickness and Health obey their King. 

The God who knows thy frame. 

Comes there an hour with blessings fraught. 

But brings some duty too? 
Is there a sorrow, or a thought, 

But has some end in view ? 

Oh, let the sun not shine in vain, 
While his bright smile is lent ; 

Nor murmur at the blasts and rain, — 
They too in love are sent. 


What message did the Angel bring, 

My sister, when he came, 
Shook sickness from his viewless wing, 

And weaken'd all thy frame ? 

Whate'er the friendly warning said, — 

It is to Conscience known, — 
Oh, let it in thy life be read, 

And by thy temper shewn. 

Welcome again to health and joy, 

My sister! let thy tongue 
Its new-strung powers in praise employ, 

And we will join the song. 

Praise Him, while youth and health are thine, 

Who youth and health bestows : 
To Him thy heart, thy life resign, 

In Him thy trust repose. 


Then, when the mission'd Angel's breath 

Again shall lay thee low, 
Thou wilt not fear tlie message — death, 

If thus prepared to go. 



Dear Harriet, could a wish bestow, 

To bless thy natal day, 
That ease and joy the wealthy know. 

And all that charms the gay, 
A Mother's love, a Father's prayer. 
With trembling doubt would falter there. 

The world ! though nature's shuddering eye 
Turns from its frown the while. 

Oh, thank it for its enmity, 
Nor dare to trust its smile. 


Thy Parents long the fight have borne, 
And thou must combat, thou must mourn. 

They dare not wish thy youthful feet 

Should find a flowery way : 
They tremble lest an earthly sweet 

Should lead thy heart astray. 
It is a desert they have trod; 
Hut 'tis the only path to God. 

But more than riches or than mirth, 

My sister, here is given. 
This Book shall be thy friend on earth, 

Shall be thy guide to Heaven. 
This hallow'd gift, this treasure take: 
Oh, prize it for thy Parents' sake. 

Tis this their pilgrim feet has led 
On through this vale of tears ; 


And on this manna they have fed. 

For all these wearying years. 
When famine in the world prevails, 
This cruse of comfort never fails. 

Oh, let this blessed gift engage- 
Thine ever-dwelling eye ; 

The rent-roll of thy heritage, 
And Hope's bright treasury. 

A Mother's love, a Father's prayer, 

Rest on the gift, and centre there. 

Dec. 22, 1810. 


Louise ! you wept, that morn of gladness 
Which made your Brother blest ; 

And tears of half-reproachful sadness 
Fell on the Bridegroom's vest : 


Yet, pearly tears were those, to gem 
A Sister's bridal diadem- 

No words could half so well have spoken, 

What thus was deeply shewn 
By Nature's simplest, dearest token, 

How much was then my own ; 
Endearing her for whom they fell,, 
And Thee, for having loved so well. 

But now no more — nor let a Brother, 

Louise, regretful see, 
That still 'tis sorrow to another, 

That he should happy be. 
Those were, I trust, the only tears 
That day shall cost through coming years. 

Smile with us. Happy and light-hearted, 
We three the time will while. 

g 5 


And when sometimes a season parted. 

Still think of us, and smile. 
But come to us in gloomy weather; 
We '11 weep, when we must weep, together. 


TO MRS. S. R. W. 

My friend, the trying hour is past. 
And o'er that fearful bridge at last 
Thy trembling steps are safely led. — 

O Woman ! in thy hour of dread, 
That fond affection might but share 
The ills thy gentle frame must bear ; 
Or, 'stead of thy mysterious doom, 
Might wrestle for thee with the tomb ! 


Alas ! it must be all thine own. 
The separate sentence each alone 
Must bear ; to man, the hardier strife, 
The brunt of care, the toils of life, 
Allotted, his to fence around, 
To tame and reap the stubborn ground, 
That thine the sweetest fruits may be, 
And the wild desert smile for thee. 

But now 'tis past, the fear, the pain. 
My sister, hail to life again ! 
That voice which erst the awful word 
Pronounced in Eden, now is heard 
No more to threaten or condemn, 
But speaking peace from Bethlehem. 
Rejoice, O Nature, now that He 
Who form'd thee, hath exalted thee. 
A Child is given, a Son is born, 
The Wonderful ! Ah, wherefore mourn 


Thy painful doom, thy rending frame ? 
Thrice blessed is the Mother's name ; 
And by that title doubly dear, 
Thrice lovely does the Wife appear. 

Joy to my Friend ! The grief is past, 
But joy, and hope, and love shall last. 
Hopes, with the opening bud unfolding, 
Shall spring and blossom in beholding ; 
And oh, what notes of joy to thee, 
Shall be his infant melody ! 
While love like vernal suns shall strengthen, 
And every day in brightness lengthen, 
Giving thee back for watchful night 
C( An overpayment of delight." 

Joy to my Friend ! And thou, dear Blossom ! 
The first that hung upon her bosom, 
May choicest dews on thee descend, 
And Heaven thy infant sweets defend 


From blight or blast. Oh, may'st thou live 
Returns of perfume sweet to give ; — 
Such fragrance as thy parent flowers 
Have long exhaled in Virtue's bowers. 
Live, to repay a Mother's care : 
Live, all that Mother's love to share : 
To know the worth of each caress, 
And pay her back in happiness ! 

Jan. 1314. 



By this, my friend, remember me, 

And those we both hold dear. 
Thy " Minstrel" friends will think of thee : 

When sets the day-star here, 


Oft will they turn towards the West, 
And think of where his glories rest. 

Farewell ! And in that distant Isle, 

When sighs the ocean-breeze, 
If these wild lays may e'er beguile 

Thy twilight reveries, 
Enough ; we have no higher claim 
Than Friendship's unobtrusive fame. 

Life is an ocean wide and waste, 

But, 'mid the stormy deep, 
A few green isles by rocks embraced, 

In memory's sunshine sleep. 
There find some wandering thoughts a home, 
And thither Fancy loves to roam. 

Joys past away and friendships old 
Have still a name and dwelling there ; 

And there thy name shall be enroll'd, 
Till other waves thy bark shall bear 


To climes beyond that crimson West, — 
The happy isles where spirits rest. 

Vet, ere that distant shore thou reach, 
Whence none have traveled ever, 

Its tale of mystery to teach, — 
Oh, ere such distance sever, 

May'st thou behold thy native beach 
Once more, and leave it never, 

Till angels minister for thee, 

In passing to eternity ! 

Peace be upon the ocean-deeps, 
And stay their tumult frantic, — 

Peace such as Heaven in mercy keeps, — 
Till o'er the wide Atlantic, 

Thou safely pass the rocky steeps, 
And gain those Isles romantic, 

Where Hope shall fondly rest, and dream 

Of thv return, till truth it seem. 


Thou shalt return ! Till then farewell ! 

And oh, when on the ocean, 
Thy bark safe o'er the surging swell 

Js bound with homeward motion, 
If in this heart no pulse shall tell 

Of friendship's fond devotion, 
Still may its power my spirit share 
Above, and wait to meet thee there ! 




M Tongues in trees." 


( ' e nius ! if such may chance to dwell 

Within the excavated bound 
That rudely shapes this oaken cell. 

And closes in its knotty round, — 
Genius ! with acorn chaplet crown'd, 

Thy hoar antiquity might well, 
If fraught it were with mortal sound, 

Of elder years a legend tell. 

For many a course of sun and shade, 
Tempest and calm, thy growth matured 


And many a year its circle made, 

The while thy summer prime endured : 

To flood and flame of heaven inured, 
Slow centuries hast thou o'erstaid ; 

By stern, majestic might secured 

From storms that wreck or blights that fade. 

Thou, like a hermit sad and sage, 

In silence lone thy dwelling hast : 
Thine aspect is a living page 

Where times o'erflown their annals cast. 
For, through the watches of the past, 

Thou hast beheld, as age on age 
Dawn'd, hast beheld them setting fast, 

And Time on his long pilgrimage 
Still hurrying to the last. 

And thou that saw'st them wear away. 
Dost fail. Ev'n as the seasons glide, 

Thy grandeur creeps to sure decay, 
Amid the devastation wide. 


For Time thy giant strength has tried. 
And, sparely deek'd, thy brandies grey 

Hang-, like old banners, at thy side, 
To mark his conquering sway. 

Ere long, the vernal year in vain 

Shall seek this trembling shade of thine : 
Thee to infoliate, ne'er again 

Shall Spring her freshest garland twine. 
The presage of thy slow decline 

O'er all thy silver'd bark is plain, 
Inscribed in many a fatal sign 

Portentous of thy ruin'd reign. 

But sure a whisper faintly broke, 

Startling the twilight air ! 
Was it the Spirit of the Oak, 

Or Fancy haunting there, 
With seeming voice r — Again it spoke ! 

Xor may rash mortal dare 


Silence the echoes it awoke, 
Or bid its tongue forbear. 

" Child of the dust ! to being- sprung- 
Long since these boughs with age were bent, 

Thy useless lay is idly sung, 

Thy breath in vain conjecture spent. 

What though with ancient pomp I wear 
The spoil of years for ever flown : 

What though in dryad lore I bear 
The memory of things unknown : 

Thee little it imports to hear, 

How, o'er the waning orb of Time, 

Fleet ages dawn and disappear, 
Revolving in their course sublime. 

The voice of years would tire to tell 
What desolating waste has been, 

What generations rose and fell 

Since erst these aged limbs were green. 


For swift as o'er the changing skies 

Sunshine and winter whirlwinds sweep, 
The mortal race to being rise. 

And rest them in their slumber deep. 
Some in the early bud are reft, 

And some in blossom immature: 
Of those to summer ripeness left, 

How few till Nature's fall endure ! 
For countless are the forms of fate 

That lurk in silent ambushment, 
That term so brief to antedate, 

To quench the flame so quickly spent. 
Oh, seek not in the dust of years 

The fragments strew'd by man's decay : 
Enough in every hour appears, 

To tell that all things wear away. 
Even while the curious search is gone 

In quest of hosts and legions fled, 
Thy own brief term is hasting on, 

To join the phalanx of the dead. 


For it is not the rushing- flight 

Of seasons soaring to the sun ; 
And it is not the wasted might 

Of ages, when their march is done : 
It is the sand that hourly keeps 

Its silent ebb from day to day, 
Which plunders, while it slowly creeps, 

The golden hoard of life away. 
The winds in destined courses fly, 

Though secret be their course, and dark : 
The sunbeam ceases not on high, 

Although no shade the dial mark. 
How long soe'er the measure given 

To bound thy moments fugitive, 
These shatter'd boughs, though rent and riven, 

The narrow confines shall o'erlive. 
Thou, blending in thy compass small, 

Impending age with infant birth, 
Ere many seasons pass, must fall, 

And mingle with thy parent earth. 


Yet, though the feeble frame that moulds 

Thy substance, all decaying be, 
That frame of fragile dust enfolds 

The germ of immortality. 
Spirit of origin sublime, 

Age is maturing strength to thee ; 
Death thy best heritage, and Time 

The portal of eternity/' 

Voice of the Oak ! whate'er thou be, 

Of wild and visionary race, 
That calFst such things to memory, 

As no light fancy should efface ; 
Still may thy warning hold a place 

Within my heart, nor pass away. 
Till latest time's faint shadow trace 

The dawning of celestial clay ! 




ec Two voices are there." From the inmost breast, 
Its seat oracular, the one proceeds, 
Prompting the high-born soul to worthy deeds, 

And rousing Fancy from inglorious rest. 

The other from above, Heaven's high behest 

In still small accents speaks ; which he who heeds, 
Is wise, for sure the path where Duty leads, 

Though dark, is safe ; though rugged, yet the best. 

Nor would I at the call of Pleasure dare 
Resist that voice, but rather wait resign'd, 

Perform my daily task with duteous care, 

And quench the proud aspirings of my mind ; 

Till happier days arrive, when, blithe and free, 

My soul shall spread her wings in joyful liberty- 




It is a false theology that says, 

There is no bliss on earth, although the name 

May seem to mock the worldling's baffled aim, 
Who for his scanty mess of pottage pays 
His all, his birthright. There are pleasant ways 

Of love and peace to him whose end is right, — 

Pastures aye green, and streams of calm delight. 
On which the heav'ns pour down their living rays. 
Some happy ones there are, blest far above 

Fortune's spoil'd heirs, who, in the quiet round 
Of duty, in the energies of love, 

And hope, and prayer, and in the eternal course 
Of Nature, healthful joy's perennial source, 

A sober certainty of bliss have found. 


H '2 



A rich and flowery slope ! its woodland bound 
Climbing the sky behind us, and before 
Towers the white crag precipitous, of yore 
The lover's resting-place. All, all around 
Is beauty, while the everlasting sound 
Of ocean conies upon the placid ear. 
Far stretching on our right, its waves appear 
Like fields of grosser ether, where abound 
White-winged barks that catch upon their breast 

Th' alternate sun and shadow. O, e'en now, 
For shade of passing cloud, while here we rest, 

Groupe fit for poet, on this sultry brow, 
For the slow-trickling coolness of her waters, 
Courting the tiniest of the Naiad's daughter-. 

Hastings, 181.0. 



There's beauty, motion, music in the stream, 
And these are sweet; but sweeter are the flowers 

That bathe therein : they live, and in the beam 
Of morn unfold, closing- when evening lowers, 
And seem to feel the sunshine and the showers : — 

Yet only seem ; and therefore sweeter still, 
The insect joying in his conscious powers 

Of flight or sport, taking his little fill 
Of happiness, ephemeral type of ours. 

Yet mind's ethereal spark is wanting there, 
And therefore sweeter are those chubby faces 
Peeping through yonder gate, in which one traces 

The dawn of soul, — speaking of mother's care, 

And hope, and love — in which the heart can share. 




" Unknown, yet well remember'd !" Such the fame 

The Poet sighs for in his loftiest mood ; — 
To be by strangers loved, to have a name, 

When he is not, among the fair and good. 
Me other hopes possess : Lady, I would 

Know and be known by all within the sphere 
Of happy being, — held by millions dear, 

Nor find one stranger 'mid the multitude; 
Meeting them all with love intense and pure 

As here but One may claim, while still the heart 
Shall with that One, my being's better part, 

Be closest knit. If this, my friend, be sure, 
Though here we never meet, it matters not. 
And yet, though still unknown, I would not be 





u Tis from the Lord/' the humbled monarch cried, 
u E'en let him curse." And so he kiss'd the rod, 
O'erlook'd the injurer, and bow'd to God. 
O majesty of meekness, which defied 
The impotence of tongues, and calm relied 

On Him who judgeth righteously ! u From men 
Who are thy sword,"— so pray'd the sufferer then — 
" From evil tongues, thy scourge, and men of pride, 
O Lord, deliver me \" Yet, who can tell, 

But those who have endured, how keen the pain 
That Slander's fangs, tongues set on fire of hell, 

And venom'd whispers that inflict a stain, 
Can cause the innocent man ? But oh, 'tis great, 
Meekly to suffer wrong, and feel it causeless hate. 





It was a chorus of the winds that stole 

Its silence from the night, and seem'd to play 
A momentary dirge— as if the soul 

Of Harmony had died and passed away. 
Now to the air it gave a solemn peal, 

And on the hearing in sad concord hung : 
Anon in trembling distance did it steal, 

Till not one tone of faint vibration rung. 
Again ! it breathes in fitful murmuring, 

Now querulous and low, now full and clear; 
Borne on the midnight gale's mysterious wing, 

Like angel echoes from a distant sphere. 

O wizard Harp ! strange power is thine, 
And more than music thou canst give, 

Stirring those chords of magic twine, 
So sweet, so fugitive. 


Thy tones, not on the ear they dwell, 
They sink not on the mournful air ; 

But inly to the heart they swell, 
And wake an echo there. 

Of friends away they seem to sing, 
And make the hours of absence dear ; 

The shades of forms beloved they bring, 
And draw the distant near. 

O wizard Harp ! such power enthralling, 

No art melodious could inspire ; 
No wing of winds in murmurs falling, 

So sweetly tune thy wire. 

It is the spell that Fancy weaves, 

Which gives thy charm to thee : 
It is the sigh that Memory heaves, 

Makes all thy melody. 


H 5 





There is a stir abroad in earth and sky. 

The busy clouds, now huddling*, now dispersing, 

Seem with the windy messengers conversing. 
The landscape is alive : the shadows fly, 

Coursed o'er the uplands by the hunter breeze. 
The shifting lights are colour to the eye, 
Clothing with warmth the sober scenery, 

The russet corn-lands and the crisp, bare trees. 
A dotting scarce perceptible, thrown out 

In tints of livelier brown, on hedge and bough, 
Gives mystic signs. A spirit is about, 

Felt through all Nature's veins ; and all things now, 
Swelling with vernal hope, are ready quite, 
Waiting His word, who said, Let there be light. 



Timely, though late, the pomp of Spring draws on : 
Their flowery carpets are the meads preparing : 
The woods, as yet some wintry tatters wearing, 

Now haste their liveries of green to don. 

The banks blush violets, while the primrose wan 
Thrusts her meek head from forth the trodden leaves 
Of forest path : with them the cowslip weaves 

Her golden pendents. Thickly now upon 

The dressy hedge-rows snowy blossoms stand, 
Of sloe and cherry; for the speckled boughs 

Have burst at once, as by enchanter's wand, 

Into rich network : green, where late the plough's 

Fresh trace appear'd, the fields and every thing. 

Hark ! from his airy tower the lark proclaims the 

What merry companies of blue-bells dance 

Beneath the underwood ! To meet the Spring, 


The Earth has caught Heaven's tender colouring", 
As if reflecting* back the blue expanse 

Seen through the beech-wood's gauzy canopy. 
I tread on flowers ; flowers meet my every glance : 
It is the scene, the season of romance, 

The very " bridal of the earth and sky." 
Even the Naiad binds her hair with flowers, 

In honour of the May : the very weeds 
That love to dip in that wild stream of ours, 

Strive to look gay amid the verdant reeds. 
Now nought in concert with the stream is heard, 
Save the impassion' d cooing" of that lonely bird. 


Still I must tell of Spring*, for every sense 
Drinks in the balmy season -, every day, 

The pageant varies its magnificence : 

In place of gaudy Apple, blooms the May ; 

The Elm's green blossoms shed, the Chestnut's gay 

Aspiring plumes of white and crimson rise. 


Endless the rich and fanciful array. 
() glorious types of that lost Paradise 

Where all was beauteous change without decay ! 
Fair Spring, with all thy sweets, and songs of mirth, 

And touching beauty, all too quickly o'er, 
Thou savourest of heav'ii more than of earth ; 

Brief pledge of richer blessings yet in store, 
Fulness of joy, pleasures for evermore. 

Chenies, 1823. 


Now o'er yon arched steep the sun 
His golden way hath slowly won, 
And, curtain'd in the crimson West . 
Descended to his nightly rest. 


Not wholly has the sunlight faded : 
The far perspective still reveals 
The track that bore his fervid wheels. 
Through the air, half bright, half shaded, 
Still does a waning lustre play, 
Loitering like a dream of day. 

Lightly in the firmament 

The moon her crystal circlet shapes ; 
And while, in shadowy vapour spent, 

Day's lingering beam escapes, 
As the last fainting streak declines, 
With clearer, brighter radiance shines, 
And burnishes her coronet, 
On Twilight's misty brow to set. 
The stream, in drowsy murmur creeping, 
Seems on its pebbled channel sleeping; 
Save where the impetuous torrent throws 
Its weight of ever-falling snows, 


That from the imperishable source 
Precipitate their headlong* course, 
Sprinkle the flood with silvery spray, 
And in the current melt away. 
Now in a glassy sheet it glides ; 
Now in some Na^ad grotto hides; 
Awhile the ivied hollow slakes, 
Then from its dark concealment breaks, 
And flowery marsh and meadow laves 
With all its labyrinth of waves. 
Foaming, now, it rushes by ; 
Now it slumbers silently. 
Athwart those mazes serpentine 
The lonely angler sweeps his line ; 
And stooping low, in airy ring, 
The swallow dips her taper wing. 

Now every hue and form retires, 
And in uncertain gloom expires. 


For lurking Darkness hastes to fling 
Her shade o'er Nature's colouring. 
The woods in lofty grandeur towering, 

Seem woven with the twilight shade : 
O'er mossy mount and dell embowering, 

They stretch their lea f v colonnade, 
And tissued with the arching sky, 
Inweave a solemn canopy. 

How silent is the gloom ! How deep 
The shades that softly close ! 

It is the hour of Nature's sleep ; 
It is the world's repose* 



Ah me ! ah me ! the nightingale's sweet lot ! 
A sweet existence that lamenteth not." 

jEschylus. Agamemnon. 

O hare Sir Nightingale, what love-sick bard, 
Keeping in vain his nightly guard, 

Did first mistake for notes of kindred sadness 
Thy song of love and gladness ? 

That song of compass and of power, 

Which startling midnight's sober hour, 

The owls and bats, with jealous hate. 

Those birds of night legitimate, 

Resent as far too light and free, 

And savouring much of revelry. 

Thou sad ! whose heart such love discloses ! 

Thou, spring's gay courtier ! Thou, the rose's 


Fond paramour in foreign bowers — 
Though, in this Christian land of ours, 
Thou dost so sweetly preach, in sooth, 
Of nuptial bliss and wedded truth, 
In notes that seem to tell its blisses 

In set-to-music kisses. 
Thy trill, and jug, and gurgling murmur, 
Now changed to accents louder, firmer, 
Like cuckoo-call; now higher still, 
In lark-like strain or whistle shrill, 
Responsi\ r e to thy lady-mate ; 

(For who but she the voice can own, 
Which doth so sweetly iterate 

That same wild, touching monotone?) 
Then, mellow'd down, an under-straiu, 
Like birdish laughter, as again 
The summons comes, a sweet soprana 

From thy most fond sultana ; — 
O wondrous bird ! thy varied measure, 

The very soul of pleasure, 


Who but an unblest lover could 
Have fancied set in minor mood? 
Who but the votary of folly 
Have call'd it melancholy? 

To me that song- denotes no less 

Than mirth and inborn happiness,, 

That dreams the peaceful night away 

In living o'er the joys of day. 

To me it a long tale unravels 

Of airy voyages, Persian travels, 

Gay pranks in summer's fairest bowers, 

And broken hearts among the flowers; 

And then of England's landscape mild, 

Spring's virgin beauties undented, 

Her violet-banks, her blue-bell glades, 

Her daisied meads, her greenwood shades, 

The hedge-rows where the may is blooming, 

With tenderest scent the air perfuming, 


The stream through richest pastures winding. 
And tender corn, — of these reminding, 
It seems to speak of all to me 
In vocal poetry. 

And but that mortal men must sleep, 
Pleased I my station here could keep 
The live-long night, a listening* to thy tale. 
But, ever-wakeful nightingale, 

When dost thou suspend thy numbers, 

And yield to quiet slumbers ? 
The lark, beyond his usual hours, 

Contending with thee from the sky, 
Seems exerting all his powers, 
Singing of corn, and thou of flowers — 

Thou beneath, and he on high, 

A fugue of wondrous melody. 
Thou 'It sing him down, and he so quiet 

Under the wheat, in lowly nest, 


Will marvel at thy tuneful riot, 

Breaking his gentle partner's rest. 
But when his matin-bell he springs 

At earliest dawn, untired thy skill, 
While his loud orisons he sings, 

He '11 hear thee at thy vespers still. 

But thine is merry chanting, wakeful one, 

There in thy sylvan dormitory. 
Oh, didst thou sing alone, 

I could believe the tender story, 
Which makes thy sweet nocturnal ditty. 

The tale of grief and pity. 
Nor could I thus have staid content 
To list thy touching merriment, 
And watch the soften'd landscape fade 
Into the lifelessness of shade. 
Till thought assumes a graver tone, 
Had / been doom'd to sing alone 


Yes, there is something in thy notes of gladness, 
To strike the sad with deeper sadness ; 
As merry-pealing bells will borrow, 
To Sorrow's ear, the tones of sorrow. 
But thou, sweet bird, art near thy mate, 
And mine ev'n now for me doth wait; 
And therefore, when the landscape fades, 
And stars come brightly through the shades, 
And sheep are penn'd, and hinds go sleep, 
And lovers sigh, and mourners weep, 
I love to hear thy shout and call, 

The sort of general communing 
Among thy fellow-songsters all, 

As though they were for concert tuning, 
Till each has fix'd upon his tree, 
And the woods ring with minstrelsy. 
1 love, yet not alone, to listen, 
Where through the leaves stars peep and glisten, 
While a soft hum the waters keep, 
As 'twere the breath of Nature's sleep ; 


Till, warn'd by some far distant chime, 
Of the forgotten flight of Time, 
We homeward haste, nor sad, nor merry, 
But, thanks to thee, heart-happy — very; 
And wondering much how birds should guess, 

And by their songs express, 
Feelings so much their powers above, 

As mutual joy and love. 




SUMMER is come ; he with the eye of flame 
And lordly brow, whence, in his angry mood, 

Flash the blue lightnings : he is come to claim 
His bride, the gentle Spring, whom late he woa'd 


With softest airs. See how his fervid breath 

Has caird the roses up on her chaste cheek ! 

And now to him the sceptre she with meek 
And tender smile resigns. Her woodland wreath 
Is faded, but the garden's gay parterre 

Is rich with gorgeous hues ; and glorious things 
Haunt the cool stream, and nutter in the air, 

Resplendent forms : the flowers have taken wings. 
They do not die — there 's nothing in Creation, 
That dies; succession all and wondrous transmigra- 


Now day survives the sun. The pale grey skies 
A sort of dull and dubious lustre keep, 

As with their own light shining. Nature lies 
Slumbering, and gazing on me in her sleep. 

So still, so mute, with nVd and soul-less eyes. 
The sun is set, yet not a star is seen : 
Distinct the landscape, save where intervene 


The creeping mists that from the dark stream rise ; 
Now spread into a sea with islets broken, 

And woodland points, now poised on the thin air: 
In the black west the clouds a storm betoken, 

And all things seem a spectral gloom to wear. 
The cautious bat resents the lingering light, 
And the long-folded sheep wonder it is not night. 


Believe, the whole creation does not slumber 

When night's dread noon the shadowy zenith sways. 
Then, swarming on th' enthusiast's watchful gaze, 

Come forms of mirth and beauty without number, — 
Distinct aerial forms, unknown to day's 
More fervid glance, afloat in dusky maze, 

While toils of sleep all mortal senses cumber. 
They hold do sympathy with sunny hours, 

Wearing night's hues of tissued grey and umber: — 
" Things put forth by the moon*," ami ontheflowers 

* Deut. xxxiii. 14. 


Nourish'd that she gives birth to. These no light 

Endure save hers, or what the glow-worm showers. 
All wondrous tokens of His sovereign might, 
Whose word ordain'd the moon to rule the night. 



Thou fairy flame of wildly beaming light ! 
When Nature's tints in one unvaried hue 
Of misty shadow fade, I love to view 

Thine emerald blaze that gems the robe of Night. 

What means the tiny beacon ? Say they right, 
Who deem it kindled for some winged mate, 
Like that fond light (to liken small with great) 

Which o'er the Hellespont did erst invite 

Th' heroic lover to his perilous visit ? 
Or, like a watch-fire, is it for defence — 


To keep aloof each insect foe? Or is it 

Of any other purpose to the wearer,, 
That mail of flame? Or does it warmth dispense? 

Or are there fays, and thou their lantern-bearer ? 


How lightly, fleetly glide away 

The hours that bring no sorrow ! 
How softly melts the summer day 

Into the bright to-morrow ! 
So, mirror'd in the quiet stream, 

The self-same objects smile, 
While motionless the waters seem, — 

So sweetly they beguile 
The charmed eye ; yet, never sleep, 
Still stealing to the mighty deep. 

I 2 


Flow on, flow on, my quiet hours : 

I will not chide your fleetness, 
So long as the unwithering flowers 

Of Love exhale their sweetness ; 
While, still unchanged, the imaged scene 

To Time's calm current gives 
Its beauty, and the unfading green 

Upon its border lives. 
When changed the scene, when fade those flowers, 
Then faster, faster speed, my hours! 

Flow on, and bear me to that clime 

Where the free spirit ranges 
Beyond the niggard laws of time, 

Its chances and its changes; 
Where not a sigh for pleasures past 

The present shall alloy, 
Nor ev'n a shade of fear o'ercast 

The never-palling joy ; 
Nor age suspend th' unfaltering song, 
Nor ev'n eternity seem long. 




A glorious day ! The village is afield: 

Her pillow'd lace no thrifty housewife weaves, 
Nor platters sit beneath the flowery eaves. 

The golden fields an ample harvest yield; 

And every hand that can a sickle wield 

Is busy now. Some stoop to bind the sheaves, 
While to the o'erburden'd waggon one upheaves 

The load, among its streamers half eonceal'd. 

We heard the ticking of the lonely clock 

Plain through each open door — all was so still. 

For, busily dispersed, near every shock 

Their hands witli trailing ears the urchins fill. 

Where all is clear'd, small birds securely flock, 

While full on lingering day the moon shines from 
the hill. 



Now that the flowers have faded, 'tis the turn 

Of leaves to flaunt in all their gayest dyes. 

'Tis Autumn's gala : every dryad vies 
In decking out her bower. How richly burn 

The gorgeous masses in the amber skies, 
Where to the West, the valley, with its stream, 
Is shut with woods that drink the setting beam ! 

There by its crimson foliage one descries 
The cherry, thrown out by the auburn shades 

Of beech, with russet oak, and hoary sallow, 
And greenest ash, bearing its golden keys, 

With here and there wych-elm of paler yellow. 
How gracefully the waning season fades! 
So Nature's every dress and every look can please. 

There is, I think, no sunshine like the sky 

Of those mild, breezy, cloudless Autumn days, 


Which tempt once more abroad the butterfly 

To search for lingering flowers; when the green 

Of ash, now loosen'd, drop on him who strays 
Through woodland paths, while the light yellow leaves 

Of fading trees come dancing down all ways, 
Tike winged things; and oft the stream receives 
Full many a tiny voyager, whiiTd along 

Amid its eddies; — when the gossamer spreads 

O'er the fresh clods her trembling silvery threads; 
And Robin, thinly screen'd, his sweetest song- 
Pours forth, as if, triumphant o'er the scene, 
He said, Spring will return, and all again be green. 


Spring, Summer, Autumn! Priestesses that hold 
Alternate watch at Nature's altar! Deep 
And full of mystery the course ye keep, 

In hidden sympathy. First, chastely cold, 


Thou, Vestal Spring, most gently dost unfold 
The oracles of Nature, and from sleep 
Enchanted, bid her infant beauties peep. 

Thou, Summer, dost inscribe in living gold 
The fullness of each promise sibylline, 
And mak'st in part the bright fruition thine, 

Murmuring soft music from her leafy fane : 
Till Autumn's stores reveal in corn and wine 

The meaning shut in every bud and grain. 

Then comes the solemn pause which calls Spring 
back again. 


'Twas not when early flowers were springing. 

When skies were sheen, 

And wheat was green, 
And birds of love were singing, 
That first I lov'd thee, or that thou 
Didst first the tender claim allow. 


For when the silent woods had faded 

From green to yellow, 

When fields were fallow, 
And the changed skies o'ershaded, 
My love might then have shared decay, 
Or pass'd with summer's songs away. 

'Twas winter: cares and clouds were round me, 

Instead of flowers 

And sunny hours, 
When Love unguarded found me. 
'Mid wintry scenes my passion grew, 
And wintry cares have proved it true. 

Dear are the hours of summer weather, 

When all is bright, 

And hearts are light, 
And Love and Nature joy together. 
But stars from night their lustre borrow, 
And hearts are closer twined by sorrow. 

l 5 



" Sister ! what rosy innocent 

Is on thy bosom sleeping? 
Oh, who such lovely charge has lent 

To Fancy's lonely keeping?" 

Fancy was bending o'er the child, 

Enwrapt in pensive musing. 
" Ah ! is it thou ?" she said, and smiled, 

A blush her charms suffusing. 

" But tell me, Hope, to this lone glen 
What leads thy footstep daring? 

What news from the abodes of men, 
And whither art repairing?" — 


" O Sister, tired with fruitless chase 

Of shadows still receding, 
I come to seek a resting-place : 

And see ! my feet are bleeding. 

" Oh, I am come in search of rest, 

Counsel and aid to borrow, 
And to a sister's faithful breast 

Confide my secret sorrow. 

" The youth for whom each blushing flower 

In varied wreath I braided, 
Ungrateful, owns no more my power, 

For, ah ! their bloom is faded. 

" To him my sweetest lays I sung, 
When oft the world had grieved him : 

No longer now can charm my toijgue ; 
He tells me I've deceived him 


" But, Fancy, if thy lyre were lent, 

And cestus, to my keeping — 
But say, what rosy innocent 

Within thine arms is sleeping? 

" How still the little slumberer lies, 
Sweet dreams his rest beguiling ! 

I wish he would unclose his eyes, 
And gaze upon me smiling. 

" One kiss !" — " Nay/' Fancy cried ; <( refrain, 

Lest you the urchin waken, 
And then he '11 spread his wings again, 

And ne'er can be o'ertaken. 

u I found him, tired with insect chase, 

Beneath a rose-tree lying : 
All faded was his cherub face ; 

So pale, I thought him dying. 


u I held him to my pitying breast, 

For could I then but take him ? 
I sang* the innocent to rest, 

And, Hope, thou must not wake him." 

" I will not : cease thy vain alarm. 

Ohe kiss — he will not feel it — 
One kiss the slumberer will not harm, 

And, Fancy, I must steal it." 

He wakes, he wakes ! he spreads his wings ; 

And while for flight preparing, 
Alas ! see how the dart he flings 

The breast of Hope is tearing. 

'Twas Love ! Too late the truth she found. 

And is he then departed ? 
None but the hand that dealt the wound, 

Can heal the broken-hearted. 



Hope, away ! 
Why, th} r meteor-flame pursuing, 
Should I rush to my undoing? 
Why Love's embers still renewing, 

Busy fay, 
Wouldst thou with vain dreams deceive me, 
And of calm content bereave me ? 
Faithless are thy smiles — then leave me. 

Hope, away ! 

Oh, depart ! 
All was peace within my breast : 
With the dream of Fancy blest, 
Love was hush'd in infant rest. 

By thy art, 


The cup of sweet delirious pain 
Was mingled : then what wishes vain, 
Restless passions fired my brain, 
And swell'd my heart ! 

Yet, how sweet 
The Siren music to my ear ! 
Is it death indeed to hear ? 
Oh, once more the sounds so dear, 

Hope, repeat. 
— Hasten, bind me to the mast ! 
Urge the lingering- vessel past, 
Lest the charmer's song at last 

Forbid retreat. 

Hope, farewell ! 
No more, no more thy melting strain 
Can reach my ear; and Love in vain 
Lights her bright watch-star. See! the main. 

With angry swell, 


Heaves my poor shattered bark. I go, 
While darkness frowns and tempests blow, 
Undaunted — whither? Morn shall shew. 
Hope, farewell ! 



Woman ! dear Woman ! in whose name 

Wife, Sister, Mother meet : 
Thine is the heart by earliest claim, 

And thine its latest beat. 
In thee the angel virtues shine; 
To thee an angers form is given : 
Then be an angel's office thine, 

And lead the soul to heaven. 

From thee we draw our infant strength ; 
Thou art our childhood's friend; 


And when the man unfolds at length, 

On thee his hopes depend. 
For round the heart thy power has spun 
A thousand dear mysterious ties. 
Then take the heart thy charms have won, 

And nurse it for the skies. 


O give me back the flower I brought 
From shades beloved by Thee : 

Its leaves, with nameless fancies fraught, 
Breathe fragrant memory. 

No, keep it — it has bloom'd its hour; 

Nor can I bear to see, 
In dying languor, ev'n the flower 

That lives the type of thee. 



spare me not — for I can bear 

To meet the sternness of thine eye ; 
And, if I meet affection there, 
Can well endure its scrutiny. 

1 fear it not : within my mind 

Whatever lurking* error live, 
That fault alone thou canst not find, 
Which only thou couldst ne'er forgive. 

Yes; spare me not. I would not be 
Blindly beloved, but fully tried ; 

From every lighter failing free, 

That might alarm or wound thy pride. 


Yet, still believe, if e'er I seem 

Absent or dull while thou art nigh, 

Ev'n then it is of thee I dream, 
For thee, in deep abstraction, sigh. 

H others, in that dreaming mood, 
My idle thoughts appear to share, 

I *m all thine own in solitude, 

And find my sweetest converse there. 


Throw, Father Time, thy hour-glass by ! 
Can that tell how the minutes fly? 
I smile to see thy wither'd hand 
Mete out the moments sand by sand, 
As if thou couldst, with tyrant power, 
Fix the brief limits of an hour; — 


As if those sands that ebb away, 

Hours, minutes, seconds, form'd a day. 

Oh, not by measure, but by weight, 

Thy favours, Time, we estimate. 

Feeling's and thoughts, and joys and fears — 

*Tis these make up our days and years : 

These to each winged fugitive 

Vitality and impulse give. 

The plastic mind, by secret spell, 

Framed within Feeling's inmost cell, 

Shrinks or dilates the elfin shapes, 

And, while the fleeting now escapes, 

As joy or grief the scene engages, 

Turns days to hours, or hours to ages ; 

Bids these to creep, and those to fly. 

— Throw, Father Time, thy hour-glass by. 




Se quando vos perdi, minha esperar^a, 
A memoria perdera juntamente— 

With hopes once fondly cherish'd, 

Now quench'd in keen regret, 
Had all remembrance perish'd, 

Oh, could I but forget — 
Forget the thoughts that haunt me, 

The joy that might not last, 
The present should not daunt me, 

Though all with woe o'ercast. 

But Love, in whom I trusted, 
That treacherous bosom-guest, 


When I, with life disgusted, 
Court apathy for rest, — 

Still mocks me with the vision 
Of happy days that were, 

To darken the transition, 
To keep alive despair. 

In barbarous succession 

He bids past joys appear ; 
Recals the faint impression 

Of raptures bought too dear. 
This to the broken-hearted 

The keenest anguish gives : 
'Tis not that Hope's departed, 

But Memory, Memory lives. 



DEABESt! Thyself comprised before 
All my fond heart desired or needed. 

The love that to my bride I bore, 

Could not, I deem'd, be well exceeded. 

But thou art now a happy mother, 

And we are dearer to each other. 

We married only to be one, 

Nor wish'd, Love, for this little stranger. 
Trembling, my bliss but just begun, 

Mv heart foreboded pain and danger. 
But Mercy heard the mutual prayer, 
And our dear babe is smiling there. 

* This poem was designed to be given among the Domestic 
Poems; but a copy could not at the time be recovered. 


And thou art spared — to him — to me ! 

To him who feels thy warm caressing, 
Oh, what a mother ! What will be 

His debt of love for such a blessing ! 
Spared ! O may Heaven my heart forgive 
That sh udder' d at the alternative. 

Away the thought ! Joy ! Dearest, joy ! 

We twain did not require this other : 
But thou art happier for the Boy, 

And thou art dearer as his Mother : 
And happy parents shall we be, 
If he loves us as I love thee. 

Nov. 26, 1815. 



[Ob. Oct. 10, 1823. JEt. 86.] 

Well done, thou faithful servant ! Of thy Lord 
Partake the joy — inherit thy reward. 

Oh, there is mercy — and that mercy, all 

Are saved by — for the vilest who shall call 

On Him who to redeem the lost was sent ; 

Nor less than Heaven awaits the penitent. 

The least among the saints to bliss shall rise ; 

The tardiest convert enter Paradise : 

But there are thrones and crowns of joy on high, 

And martyr-wreaths, and palms of victory, 

An entrance more abundant, joys that bloom 

With richer hues, and bliss more vast — for whom ? 



Not the renown'd on earth, the rich, the great, 

The eloquent, the gifted. These await, 

If saved, the general heaven. But from the dust 

How sweetly smells the memory of the Just ! 

Give not the Christian crowd that sacred name : 

'Tis rare Fidelity's exalted claim. 

'Tis his who Duty's path unswerving trod ; 

In much or little, faithful to his God : 

He whom the wretched and the poor knew best ; 

Whom, when the ear his footstep heard, it blest ; 

To whom the eye, with age or sorrow dim, 

Gave witness, and whose works shall follow him : 

Who silently his Saviour's steps pursued ; 

Whose creed was love, whose life was gratitude. 

Quietly active, calmly ardent, kind, 
Yet firm of purpose, resolute of mind ; 
Unchill'd by age, cheerful in loneliest hours 
Of widow'd solitude ; with failing powers, 


Still happy, — happier as he near'd the goal, 
And the receding - world forsook his soul ; 
Vet patient to the last ; — so lived, so died, 
One whom the world ne'er heard of in its pride. 
But 'tis a spectacle that angels love. 
Those holy ones who bear the saint above, 
Who watch his steps, and wait upon his prayer, 
See in this fallen world no sight more fair, 
Than such a Christian hoary-ripe for bliss, — 
Than the calm sunset of a life like this.